Yondu origin story
by StarsAreOutThere
Summary: Yondu's origin story. I have no rights to Marvel Studios, Guardians of the Galaxy, or any of the characters within them. I'm just a fan that felt this story was needed. Best if you've already seen GotG2.
1. chapter 1

Chapter 1: It Was Raining That Day

 _As hard as this is, part of me believes that death would be better._

* * *

Centaurian IV was in a state of ruin. The political discourse across the planet had led to something of a world war. At this point only a third of the planet was even considered habitable - the rest wrought with crime, poverty, buildings demolished, power sources destroyed, and mass genocide from warring factions caring not for the casualties of their ambition.

The majority of Centaurians could do nothing about this. The price for citizenship in the developed countries was unobtainable - for those that could afford it, it was always 'just' out of reach. Those that were too poor to even consider travel, within the planet or otherwise, were abandoned by the government sworn to help them. Left to rot.

Most inhabitants of the planet did whatever they could to relocate themselves to one of the neighboring Centaurian planets that were not riddled with war. Even then, prices were high. A travel visa, citizenship paperwork and introductory housing for two adults? No less than 25,000 units.

It was for this reason the selling of children to Kree slave outposts became so popular. Children, Centaurian in particular, were attractively priced. No doubt intentional given the political state. Living in the developing countries left families in a persistent state of famine and terror. If not blown up or slaughtered, many children simply starved to death, given the infrastructure was in complete disarray and there was no government aid to be had.

A shuttle trip to a Kree outpost planet however was a mere couple hundred units. For many parents, the heartbreaking choice was made - in an effort to save themselves, both from a very probable fatality rate and the hardship of seeing their own children die.

The weather patterns of the Kree outpost planet in Centaurian IV's local group were swirling with thick grey clouds bordering on black. The precipitation falling in sheets across the land; a Centaurian couple, one half appearing to be a mother and her baby, the baby devoid of clothing except for the middle of its body, held in a secure embrace against the mother's chest. The small family shared the commonality of their skin color; the signature deep blue like that of the vast oceans on Centaurian IV.

The father was dressed in worn black clothing, the color matching the headscarf and outmost layer of clothing adorned by the mother; underneath the protective layer she wore a dark brown garment customary for women in Centaurian culture: long-sleeved dress, thick enough to stave off the elements. They stood under a pavilion with very little coverage from the rain on the side which they stood.

In front of them, the Kree soldier responsible for slave appraisal stood opposite side of the table structured between. The transaction, it appears, had already gotten started.

The soldier motioned at a gray slab to his right on the table. His face had the signature markings of a Kree solider, streaked black with paint in a symmetrical fashion across his blue skin. His dress was also in tune: black headdress and armor in place of clothing on his upper half.

"Place the child down," he stated clearly in a deep voice.

The mother looked reluctantly at her partner. It's unclear if the look he gave in turn was one of sympathy or of impatience; regardless, he relieved her of the weight of the child on her chest. Gentle yet firmly he pried the child away from the woman and placed it on its back on the stone slab.

The baby boy was calm and fidgeted age-appropriately despite his lack of cover from clothing in the pouring rain. The slab was set in such a way that the baby lay lengthwise, his feet pointing to the Kree soldier. He arched his neck and head in order to peer upward and back towards his parents. In that same motion the child characteristically brought both hands to his mouth and began gnawing on his little fists.

He had fiery red eyes.

On the table was a black rectangle-shaped piece with a surface that shimmered like glass. With a brief tap of two fingers at the top, a screen was broadcast in front of the Kree.

"Name?" There was no emotion or inflection in his voice.

The father darted his eyes to meet the soldier's. For a moment he looked bewildered, but he gathered his composure and was about to respond after swallowing to find his voice when the mother interjected.

"Yondu," she said quietly. The baby looked back to her at the sound of her voice. He reached a hand in her direction: she took his hand with her finger and smiled as her eyes filled with tears. "His name is Yondu Udonta."

Yondu gurgled with happiness at the attention from his nurturer and cooed in response, prompting her to laugh through a choked-back sob, her tears falling down her face on her bended gaze.

The outpost solider was unaffected: after keying in the name he tapped a button on the holographic screen that triggered the stone to brighten up with a warm, orange glow. There was a flash of calculations on the screen, capturing the child's height and weight.

The child was lean, underweight, on the verge of malnutrition: a clear outcome of the food shortage that Centaurian IV's warring state had subjected them all to. His length however was above average - this boded well as an indicator that he would not grow to be small and would have a formidable height.

After a few other prompts to record the familial linage, date of birth, and a physical exam, the Kree provided his assessment.

"30,000 units."

The couple looked at each other: the rain seemed to be coming down even harder now.

The mother's face was contorted in pain. The father could tell - she was on the verge of breaking down. He took her face in his hands just as she began to shake her head, more tears welling in her eyes.

"I can't do it," she sobbed. "I-I just can't do it..."

"Shh, shh," he whispered lovingly, trying to reassure her. "Look at me" he tilted her face to meet her eyes "we can start a new life with this." Pressing his forehead to hers, "we can have another baby. I promise... this will be okay."

His words seemed to be an effort to convince himself just as much as they were in an attempt to convince her. She gripped his hands with her own and closed her eyes: she knew. She had known the entire shuttle to this wretched outpost that they were out of options. They had no money. They had no worthwhile possessions to sell. They had no food. The only shelter they had was in a village already riddled with bombings.

This was the option.

It was this, or watching her son die, or all three of them dying through one disastrous means or another.

The father noted her look of complacency but still waited for her nod. Once received he turned to the Kree man and nodded in turn.

"We'll take it."

The Kree said nothing in response; he gestured with his head down towards the table, having prepared a tablet with a screen prompted for their interaction.

The father pressed his thumb to the screen for a few seconds: a box highlighted with white flashed quickly and darted in a triangular pattern across the screen from left to right.

The transaction now made.

Following this the soldier spoke aloud the summary on his holo-screen in his sullen, formidable voice:

"Yondu Udonta.

Centaurian.

Age: six months.

Weight 14 lbs, length 25 inches.

Now property of the Kree Intergalactic Army.

Service: battle slave. "

The rectangle on the table had ejected from its side a small tray with a silver chip no larger than the size of one's fingernail. With a swift fluidity to his actions that could only reflect the natural procession that came with countless repetitions, the Kree took the small chip and slid it in place of the handheld piece that resembled a compressed air gun he had retrieved from his side. With one hand, he forced the baby's head to lay flat on the right side, exposing the space on the scalp between the back of the head and the ear as he used his thumb to press down the ear. Once his grip on the child's head was steady he pressed firmly against the space behind the babe's ear with the gun and pulled the trigger to secure the chip into the child's skin.

This was not a painless procedure: the child's demeanor was already degrading into a fuss, but now with this harsh action there was an immediate escalation into loud, long, pain-filled cries.

The mother was practically brought to her knees by this torture, her eyes closed as her insides twisted in pain. Her partner gripped her arm tightly and stepped out to the rain from the coverage of the pavilion.

"Come on, let's go." He implored her as the rain fell on his face, pulling her to follow him.

The baby's arms and legs moved widely, his cry non-stop and uncontrollable. At some point the solider must have summoned the Kree woman that appeared at the station now peering over the crying child. Like the solider her face was painted, hers in a pattern of thick waved stripes of black and gold. The colors of the paint coordinated with her clothing and headscarf, which was also black with the exception of the gold waved across her sleeves and midsection. She apparently was there to retrieve the child.

"Come on," the father urged once again, pulling the arm of the mother who had at least gotten to her feet but could not rip her eyes from the child.

"My baby," she uttered helplessly, practically whimpering, "my baby..." her feet moved mindlessly as she was drug through the pouring rain by her partner in the direction of the space shuttle bay.

Everything in her told her not to look back.

The Kree maiden - as emotionless as her soldier counterpart - picked up the crying child and carried him pressed against her shoulder. He was still quite occupied with his sobbing, but the motion of being held and carried brought his cries down for a brief moment.

Everything told her not to look back, but she did anyway. For a brief second her fiery red eyes met the matching eyes of her baby as he looked at her over the shoulder of the maiden, much to the mother's regret.

It was only for a second, but that second could have been slowed down to a hundredth of its frame. The mother turned her head and sobbed as she strode forward with her husband's hand in hers. She did not look back again.

As the baby watched her walk away, he immediately went into another fit of wails. This time however it was not the physical pain that inspired it. It was the abandonment of his nurturer - his sole source of care, of love - and as a baby all he could do was cry to get her to come back to him, to hold him as she had done just a little while ago.

They would never see each other again.

It was only for a second that their eyes had met, but in that second the hole that would forever persist within each of them was solidified. No matter how hard they tried, it was sadly a void that neither mother nor child would ever be able to fill.

* * *

A/N: Anything I write is going to be focused on staying canon to the movie version of GotG. I'm really not going to mess with things like units of measurement, measurement of age/time, translating languages, etc. I'm just going with what I know.

Thanks for reading; if anyone is re-reading (god bless you) you may notice edits, just trying to make the best of this. If you like this chapter, please review! Each chapter is written like an episode in a series - your feedback means the world to an aspiring writer like me :)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Life on the Outpost

 _It's hard to long for a better life when this is the only life you know._

* * *

The slave outpost facility might give one the impression that it was a factory merged with a coliseum if looking at it from a bird's eye view. At the same time the layout was something like a market weaved throughout: much of the operation was staged outdoors. On one end, a building that was forged from leftover metal from a massive Kree battleship that had been demolished; there were numerous levels of the building, both above ground and below.

Outside of this to the south was a vast span of ground, bare from the center on out with pavilioned stations all around the perimeter. This arena and its web of stations encompassed the land, bookended by another facility: single story, yet still formidable in terms of square feet it covered, and rectangular in shape.

It looked, for lack of a better word, like a prison. This was not too far off from the truth.

This was the facility that every infant sold into Kree slavery would spent the majority of their first few years of life. More specifically, they would spend their lives in egg-shaped pods.

The pods themselves were architected to remove the need for any nurturing or interaction in the child's development - babies served frankly no purpose, but the investment of the slave warranted a model that was efficient and productive.

The baby would be connected to the machine, a mouthpiece in place to allow breathing, and the pod would fill up with a thick, orange liquid. Through osmosis, the liquid would seep through the skin of the inhabitant and deliver whatever formula the pod was programmed to deliver.

Nutrition. Healing. Growth stimulants. And with a few simple attachments to the skull, brain synapses could be coded with motor skills and speech development.

It was truly a very sophisticated machine.

The regimen for infants was to spend 14 hours a day in the pods. When not in the pods, the Kree maidens transferred the infant to the nursery for sleep: a cold and dark place with rows upon rows of infant beds, a nursery in name only given you would not once find any one of the Kree maidens nursing or nurturing, or even holding the infants to soothe or comfort. This was forbidden.

It was a simple formula - 14 hours in the pods to promote growth, otherwise in the nursery for sleep: repeat, and repeat. Once a year the child would receive a physical assessment; this was to ensure the child was not only developing as expected, but that there were no egregious deficiencies with their bodies. Any child that was too weak, or too sick, or deformed was deemed unfit for the battle slave occupation...and terminated on the spot.

Similar to six months ago, the Centaurian named Yondu Udonta was laying on a grey slab, this time under a pavilion within the facility.

Behind this scene the entire outpost was a bustle of activity. The fighting grounds were full of slaves in battle match-ups, honing their skills in fighting and in weaponry. The pavilions surrounding the fighting grounds acted as various stations for armor, weapons, weapons maintenance, weapons cleaning, armor cleaning. And further still in sight - if one looked hard enough - you could see the docking bay for ships to load and offload soldiers from the outpost onto battle. It would of course be some time before the baby on the stone slab would be boarding one of those ships, but board them he would if he survived that long.

The alien conducting the exam was not Kree: tall, oblong shaped head, with large turquoise eyes and fingertips resembling little orbs, his fingers sprawled across the baby's head to reveal the chip behind the ear to scan and pull up the infant slave's record. The child squirmed at this touch and grunted in protest but did not cry. The slab beneath the infant was again glowing orange, graduating its glow to red, then to purple, performing the scans and populating the holoscreen next to the provider with the necessary data.

"Name: Yondu Udonta.

Age: 1 year.

Physical growth targets...met.

Intellectual growth targets ... met.

No glaring deficiencies identified."

Time passed. The cycle repeated itself. As time went by the child spend less and less time in the pods, but given the nature of their function the Kree saw it fit to use the pods throughout the life cycle of all battle slaves: it was honestly a very easy way to ensure low mortality rates from undernourishment as well as lower operational costs towards food and any healing needs.

2 years.

3 years.

4 years.

At four years old Yondu sat on the table; he was wearing a white shirt lacking in sleeves and a pair of pants, both of which had been his singular possessions for clothing for quite some time and thus showed signs of wear. The provider's assessment was the same as it had been the last 3 years with one exception:

"...no glaring deficiencies identified. Ready to begin task assignment."

Task assignment.

This meant the child was finally at the point where developmental needs were seen as sufficiently met. It was time to put the child to work.

A Kree maiden that had been shadowing the doctor beckoned Yondu to follow her.

It was another dark-skied, overcast and grey day.

The four year old obediently followed behind the handmaiden, looking at her back, knowing she would not look at him because they rarely ever did. He followed her throughout the stretch of pavilioned stations to weapons maintenance. A large, muscular man was working a dagger at a sharpening stone setup when they arrived.

The man, quite possibly entering his 60s, looked up briefly to see the handmaiden and in turn the small boy. His eyes and skin were the same fire and ice as Yondu: another Centaurian.

The Kree maiden, adorned in their signature black and gold, stated clearly, "he is to start task assignment."

The Centaurian man did nothing but nod and return his attention to the dagger in his hands against the stone. Yondu stood there in the wake of the Kree maiden, observing this newfound behavior of weapons maintenance that he had glanced at from afar but never seen up close.

"Come 'ere, boy," came the gruff voice of the weaponsmith. There was a twang of dialect in his voice, a signature (unbeknownst to Yondu) for Centaurians from the southern regions of Centaurian IV. Yondu approached him, staying a few feet away given the sparks flying off the dagger as it was sharpened.

The adult Centaurian released his foot from the pedal of his workstation and held the dagger up to observe his work. It seemed he had reached a level of satisfaction with it and thus turned both his body and his attention to young Yondu.

"Can you speak?" He said, looking the boy directly in the eye.

This was an interesting question - in truth, this was the first time in the four year old's life anyone had _asked_ him to speak, outside of his yearly assessments where they were merely ensuring the synapsing for speech development was on target ("Can you speak? Say 'yes sir'." "Yes sir")

What a sensation for the small child...but he responded in course, with the only thing at that point he had been used to saying: "Yes sir"

The adult Centaurian chuckled and smirked at this programmed response. There was no need to inquire how long Yondu had occupied the slave outpost - his age and this response was evidence enough.

"Wa's your name?"

"...Yondu Udonta." Again the boy responded, his hesitance only due to this being his first real conversation. His name he knew given it was stated each year during his assessments (much like how barcodes are matched to products).

The man accepted the response and gave one in turn. "My name- is Barrett Ygah." It was clearly important to this man to establish the exchange of their names even though his correspondent was only four years old... perhaps this was because in terms of living your life as a Kree battle slave, your name was the only thing from your prior life you were allowed to still have.

"Now listen up, Yondu," Barrett leaned in to look down at the young Centaurian: "y'gonna help me out by takin' the daggers I finish up, and puttin' 'em up over there" he pointed behind Yondu at a large slab of stone that housed more than one sharpened weapon, to which Yondu turned his head. Barrett grasped the entirety of the boy's scalp, free of hair same as his own, with his expansive hand and turned his focus back: "look at me." He removed his hand and pointed at the dagger he held in his other.

"Carry it at THIS part," Barrett pointed at the handle, and then to the blade, "you ain't gonna touch _this_ part, you got it?"

Yondu's red eyes went slowly from the blade up to meet Barrett's; the boy nodded. Barrett urged his young counterpart: "R'peat it back"

Yondu looked at his feet, then back up to Barrett.

"I ain't gonna touch that part."

Barrett nodded. "Good boy." He laid the blade flat and offered it to the boy trustingly with both hands. Yondu grasped the dagger at the handle, careful not to touch the blade, and walked over to the stone to set the weapon down alongside the others. The exchange set the tone for how the remainder of the day would go for Yondu: taking finished weapons from Barrett to the table, "weapons maintenance assist".

This was a typical first task assignment; the goal was to establish the relationship of servitude in concurrence with giving an application to the skills adapted in the pods.

Yondu would actually not see Barrett the next day: he would be rotated throughout the various stations to gain familiarity with the other task assignments appropriate for his age.

Yondu found weapons maintenance to be the most pleasant of all the task assignments; this was not only due to the fact that Barrett engaged Yondu in conversation, and as time went by he even went as far as teaching Yondu how to whistle (a core of Centaurian culture that Yondu never knew given he had been a slave since he was a baby).

No, the other stations he got assigned to were far less pleasant. If not set to weapons maintenance, he was either tasked to cleaning the blood off of weapons and armor, or worse: stripping cadavers of their clothing and armor to be repurposed. His small hands trembled the first time he had to strip down a dead battle slave, which attracted the attention of the overseer as the boy found himself frozen and unable to perform the task. This had earned him a whip across his back; he did not make the same mistake again, despite his trembling hands.

Whenever the days concluded the boy - along with all the other slaves - were led off the open area to the main facility building and underground where he would find his new sleeping quarters in the cages. Now that Yondu was on task assignment he was no longer housed in the nursery: he had a cage, roughly four feet wide and seven feet long, with nothing but a cold black stone floor to sleep on. His first night of curling up fetal to retain warmth was sleepless: his only solace was that the next morning he was taken straight to the pods where he would find rest while submerged in the thick orange fluid, a warm comfort like that of an embrace he did not find a source for otherwise.

Before being taken to the cages the slaves were convened in a mess hall with very limited food in supply: getting any food at all seemed like a privilege or courtesy not truly needed given everyone would at some point in their day be sustained via the pods. This made the fact they got food at all, got the opportunity to _eat_ , very much desired and hence fought for.

That first day it was clear to Yondu he would have no chance to snag food for himself: after observing the literal swarm to the tables once food was provided, Yondu consented he would rather not get trampled and sat alongside the wall, waiting obediently for whatever orders he would be given next. It was a pleasant surprise when Barrett plopped down next to him and broke him off a piece of his bread that he looked to have been able to score.

Yondu held the bread, honestly not knowing what to do or to say. Barrett picked up on this.

"Ya eat it. Put it in y'mouth and chew it. Like this." The Centaurian tore off a small piece and popped it into his mouth, chewing obviously to show the boy the intent of the action.

Yondu copy-catted this, tasting solid food for the first time.

Barrett was pleased at Yondu's reception to his instructions but was clearly waiting for something else to happen. Seeing the boy once again needing prompting, he barked "Somebody gives y'somethin you say 'Thanks'."

Yondu looked from Barrett, to the bread in his hand, and back.

"Thanks." Yondu's voice sounded so small in that moment.

This was more attention, more interaction, more care than anything the boy could remember ever receiving in his life.

His awe clearly made the adult Centaurian uneasy: Barrett looked forward to break his eye contact with the boy. Using his arm closest to the child, he ended the interaction with a hearty _tap tap_ with his open hand on the boy's shoulder and got up, finding a different place to finish his bread until the "meal" was considered over and everyone led to their cages.

Once again, time passed: Yondu enjoyed very much the opportunities with Barrett to use his voice and speak to another person. Their conversations were always during times of work where they were not under the observation of their Kree overseers. Yondu naturally developed the same speaking patterns as his conversation partner, and cherished any chance to speak with Barrett even if his tone was less than pleasant ("Hand me that cloth" "Yes sir" "Don't say Yessir to me dammit jus say awright!" "...awright").

Things carried on like this for Yondu for the next 14 months. It's hard to say what kind of person Yondu would be had it not been for these interactions: they added an element to his life that he'd been sorely missing, not that he would have consciously known it.

It was another rainy season, and Yondu at age five (secretly eagerly) went to his task assignment for the day; he was dismayed to see that someone other than Barrett was at weapons maintenance, cleaning the pieces of a dismantled heavy artillery gun.

More than dismayed: Yondu was dumbstruck, so used to seeing that familiar face, red eyes, blue skin... instead the alien before him housed a series of eyes in their skull, with skin a sickly yellow, and a mouth full of sharp teeth akin to that particular race.

Yondu wanted to speak, he wanted to ask where Barrett was, but was too afraid to even move let alone inquire. The many-eyed brute noticed the boy in his paralyzed state and grunted at him, "He's been sent on tour to battle."

Yondu came to his senses...Barrett had said something to him about this at one point.

"Y'git good at somethin and they let ya do it during the offtime when y'git older, but y'never gonna stop gettin' sent int'battle." The old man motioned over at the ships that day when he relayed this to Yondu. "They'll send me on those ships til the day I die."

Yondu had looked at Barrett with wide eyes at that statement, prompting Barrett to say "don't worry. I ain't died yet."

 _Maybe I'll see him next time_ , Yondu thought to himself.

His task assignment at weapons maintenance that day went without conversation.

The next time Yondu would see Barrett... was during his task assignment a week later.

Barrett's body was cold, lifeless; a gaping blaster wound in his chest had begun to turn black with congealed blood. Yondu could only look at the cadaver in front of him.

" **Udonta**." Came a terse command. It was the head overseer, the same one who had whipped him the last time he fell short on this job. Yondu looked at the whip clutched in his master's hand. The threat of violence was enough; Yondu began to dismantle the belt around Barrett's waist.

The unfamiliar ache in Yondu was none other than grief, and it hit home the hardest as he lay curled up on the floor of his cage that night. His eyes teared up as he choked back sobs. He did his best to stay quiet and make his tears stop; this, however, was a very hard thing to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Learning to Fight

 _You either use the pain to make yourself stronger or it is the fuel on which you burn._

* * *

At age six, Yondu was finally considered old enough to begin his training as a Kree battle slave. He had spent the last two years in the perimeter around the battle arena; today was his first time actually being stationed within it.

Yondu had already begun putting on the child-sized armor that had been set at his feet; the fingerless armored gloves on his hands felt heavy and the weight of the armor on his shoulders and chest felt unnatural, but the headgear that encompassed his forehead and sides of his skull and strapped across his chin felt even more so. Even still, he securely fastened the helmet and everything else into place and turned to face what appeared to be a standard unit battle droid.

All child slaves started off with battle droids. This was to ensure proper training. As they approached adulthood they would graduate to fighting each other in sparring matchups; for now, battle droids were tasked with the training aspect of grooming the slaves for the battlefield. After children learned to fight in hand-to-hand combat, the next logical step was for them to select a weapon and learn how to use it. Once the level of mastery for a weapon was achieved slaves would move on to obtain mastery in other forms of weaponry: all the better for a warrior on the battlefield.

Centaurians had lineage of warriors throughout their ancestry, and the Kree knew this: they always offered a high price for Centaurian slaves for this exact reason. As a Centaurian, Yondu would find later in life that he would excel quickly both with fighting and mastery of weapons. That would not be for some time however.

The droid engaged Yondu as soon as it was apparent the boy was done suiting up.

" ** _TRAINING SESSION NUMBER ONE. OBJECTIVE: MELEE COMBAT PROFICIENCY. ASSUME TUTORIAL STANCE_** ," the droid's metallic voice commanded before it raised its fists in front of itself and bent at the knee joints slightly.

This was the indicator to Yondu, who stood about five feet opposite of the droid, to follow suite. The boy didn't get right away what exactly he was supposed to do. His face contorted into a quizzical look. "Huh?" he muttered under his breath.

The droid had no settings for a tolerance of this.

" ** _ASSUME TUTORIAL STANCE,_** " The robotic voice repeated. Without warning a triangular metallic prod extended from the upper left section of the droid's upper body, hitting Yondu squarely in the chest.

There was reasonable force behind this: it hit Yondu hard. So hard that he fell from his feet and could feel pain resonating from the spot of impact.

Tears began to well in the child's eyes - the armor kept his skin from being broken but it would most definitely bruise.

Regardless, the boy couldn't help but choke out a sob sitting there on the ground.

This gained him the wrong kind of attention.

"UDONTA!" Came a familiar voice. It was the master overseer. Yondu did not know his name; the man towered over him in his off-white garb with a diagonal streak of gold that went from his shoulder to his belt. The master had coffee-colored skin and a stone cold face: he started towards Yondu and crouched down to loom over the child on the ground, Yondu now trying avidly to withhold his desire to cry from the pain of the blow.

[a/n: real quick - I picture this guy having the same accent as Djimon Hounsou from GotG1]

The master grimaced at the small child and pointed at the robot while maintaining eye contact with the little Centaurian: "You. Do what it does. Watch the droid, do what it does. Unless you want to get hit again."

Yondu sniffled and nodded - he was ashamed, unable to have preempted his show of weakness and did not make eye contact. "Yessir." The master returned to stand from his crouched position over the boy and walked away, leaving the child to get up on his own.

The droid's eyes flicked twice with light and repeated the actions from earlier, taking a fighting stance and computing out the command: " ** _ASSUME TUTORIAL STANCE_** "

Yondu's face now reflected determination and a bit of anger; he raised his fists in a protective stance in front of himself, bending slightly at the knee.

The robot proceeded to demonstrate fighting moves. One at a time, the robot would jab, uppercut, etc. and Yondu would mirror that action.

Over time his training graduated; he went from mirroring the robot's moves to contact sparring with the robot. Every day. Every day, rain or shine, little Yondu adorned armor and trained in the arena.

After his training completed for the day Yondu would remove his armor and, given his age, would be assessed by a Kree maiden to determine if any injuries sustained during training warranted a trip to the pods to heal. If no healing was needed, Yondu was sent to the communal showers to wash off the sweat and grime of the day.

The showers resided on the same underground floor as the mess hall and cages. The layout was that of a prison shower system with the exception of a thick dividing wall separating the shower block into two stretches of showerheads and drains: this was so the adult men and children could shower separately.

While in the showers Yondu saw other child slaves funnel in from their day of training as well, though not a single one ever spoke to him. He was the youngest of the group (counted seven others) at the time; it would have been nice to develop some sense of camaraderie with the other boys. It was clear though from the looks on their faces that they were hardened by their lives as battle slaves. Yondu learned this the hard way; he was simply looking at another boy that had taken up a spout next to him in the shower - apparently he was looking "too long" (he had been contemplating saying something, maybe just introducing himself at some point). Once the boy [age 11] picked up on Yondu's stare he said nothing, just took Yondu's head in his hand and slammed it against the shower wall. This busted the child's eyebrow open; blood now swirling down the drain with the water from the shower.

He would have to go to the pods to be treated for the injury.

After spending a couple of hours in the pods to allow his wound to heal, dusk had already fallen. Any chance for a meal in the mess hall had long since passed; Yondu didn't need it anyway, but as he walked alone down the dimly lit, concrete underground hallways towards the cages he lamented his desire to connect with the other child. He concluded the others were smarter than he, keeping to themselves. He would do best to follow suite.

The hallways to the cages were something like a maze; not that Yondu was getting lost. This being the only life he had ever known made the route to his sleeping quarters all too familiar. He was about to turn a corner when he was stopped abruptly.

Before him stood an older man, Jovian from the looks of it. Yondu couldn't tell at first if the man was a slave or a guard...though he assumed a guard after noticing the impressively large dagger at his side held in place by a holster on his belt.

The man was on the heavier side and most likely drunk given he was weaving back and forth.

"What're you doin' out your cage, boy" he slurred at the six year old, effectively blocking his way.

Yondu didn't know what to say; he felt scared. The hallway was dark, outside of a flickering firelight torch that was stationed on the wall; the man was much bigger than he, with a weapon, and acting unpredictably.

"I..." the child stuttered out, "I-I...I had gotten hurt-"

The guard's hand came with a swiftness to Yondu's shoulder and pushed the little boy back, back to pin him against the wall.

Oh, god...no. This was not good. This guard, he was a predator of the smaller boys...had he known that Yondu was going to be walking to the cages alone?

The boy's heart raced as panic set in. He was so small, the man literally towered over him, pinning him to the wall with his forearm. It didn't help that Yondu was not wearing a shirt (he had grown out of the one he had and hadn't received another one). He felt so vulnerable, so scared...

"Mmm...you look good for a boy your age," the guard's voice was husky with lust. His free hand sloppily swept over Yondu's little face and grabbed his chin. "Gonna get at that sweet ass of yours..." He undid his belt after he spoke and slid his pants down, to which Yondu reacted with fervent struggle.

"Lemme go!" He pleads as he squirmed, wriggled, did everything he could to get away. "No, no, please no!"

"Shh," the guard whispered in the boy's ear. He again made use of the arm not keeping the boy pinned, and started to slide the boy's pants down. Everything was moving so fast.

Within a matter of seconds, the guard would force the boy to flip around and pin him to the wall again, ready to take advantage of his backside...

Yondu's eyes darted all around; he quickly noticed the dagger holstered at the guard's waist-side had slid down with the pants: he could reach it.

The poor boy didn't know, he couldn't process what exactly the man meant with what he said he wanted from him. He just knew: what was happening right now, was not okay. The pit in his stomach told him that if he did not act, he would surely regret it. Instinctively he grabbed the dagger handle, pulled it up and out from the holster on the guard.

The guard noticed immediately the boy's actions despite his drunken state.

"HHEYY!" he slurred, but then choked.

The dagger was now in the roof of his mouth: being positioned directly under him, all Yondu had to do was force the dagger straight up, which he had done in a surge of fear and adrenaline with all his might. This plunged the blade through the man's neck right under his chin and into his mouth.

Yondu was practically hyperventilating he was breathing so quickly; small and trembling hands clenched on the dagger. The guard had released his grip, both from the pinning of Yondu to the wall and on the boy's pants.

The man's gurgling in his own blood and choking with the dagger in his mouth terrified Yondu. Without thinking (though he probably should have) he pulled the dagger out of the guard's throat: opening a main artery. The predator's blood showered over the little boy as the 250-lb man slumped forward against the wall, the child still underneath in the space between. Yondu moved quickly out of the way: his face and front of his body now splattered with the other man's blood.

The predator slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, now dead. The only sound in the hallway was Yondu's own ragged breathing and the crackling of the torchlight fire.

Yondu gasped with surprise when he looked around and saw suddenly the broad-shouldered master overseer. His hands behind his back, his face contorted with a furrowed brow. Curious, when had he arrived? How long had he been standing there?

A whole new set of fears surged up in the boy: he had just killed a guard. A disgusting, low-life predator of a guard, but still a guard nonetheless.

What would happen now? Yondu would surely be punished...he panicked as he came to the realization that the outcome of this could very well be that they kill him for insubordination (this was not an uncommon practice). He didn't want to die - he couldn't quite explain why, he really couldn't...but in that moment, that was exactly how he felt.

The little boy stood frozen in place, still heaving to catch his breath, as the master looked him over...the moment felt like it went on forever.

To Yondu's surprise, the overseer simply looked him up and down and ordered, "Go to the showers to clean yourself." He turned to the side as if he was about to start his walk away, stopping to turn his head back and say "Clean your clothing as well."

Yondu's face reflected his astonishment; he was so confused. But he knew better than to question his master.

Not sure what to say ("Thank you", "Yessir", nothing seemed quite right), he walked quickly past his overseer towards the shower cells. They were expectedly (thankfully) empty; the streaming of blood that had occurred during his earlier endeavor in the shower was like a creek compared to the raging river of blood that flowed from the boy washing up now. Yondu took solace in the quiet rain of the water; having deposited his pants at the wash station when entering the shower, he had to wait a while after he was done for the machines to finishing processing his garment. He could still see blood stains even after the wash was complete, but at least they were dry and dark in color so not really that noticeable. After clothing himself he deposited his towel and walked back along the same path he originally started on towards his cage.

When he turned that same corner this time he did not see anyone; the body of the predatory guard had been removed, much to Yondu's surprise. The pool of blood: also cleaned up. All that remained of the scene were the dark stains on the concrete and Yondu's traumatic memories...Yondu swallowed, as if trying to push the resurgence of terror back down from whence it came, and walked as quickly as he could to his cage.

The cage had always acted as a constant reminder of his imprisonment...tonight, he felt grateful to have those bars, convincing himself that they would protect him somehow, or at least help him see whatever was coming.

He slept more soundly that night than usual, curled up into a ball in a far corner of the cell with his back against the bars.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: 10 Years

 _The blood of a warrior ran through his veins._

* * *

Over the next ten years the formula of the Centaurian's life in slavery would mold him in the fashion desired for any battle slave of the Kree.

The master overseer who had found Yondu on the brink of pedophiliac assault covered in a guard's blood had taken notice of Yondu's potential to be a warrior. Yondu eventually learned his name: he was acknowledged by his Kree associates as Ahran; General Ahran; and sometimes simply General. Ahran had earned his stripes on the battlefields of war for the Kree Intergalactic Army over the last 25 years; running command of this slave outpost was his form of retirement. He was well suited to it. Very few outposts ran as efficiently as his did.

The key as far as he saw it was to have a very low tolerance for one's inability to fall in line. This went for _any_ slave, even the children. He was cold to anything outside of following orders; if you were belligerent, if you fought back, if you tried to run - they would just kill you. Right where you were, for all the other slaves to see, so that everyone would know: you either fall in line, or you die.

That said it would be inaccurate to interpret Ahran's sweeping that guard being killed at the hands of little Yondu under the rug an indication of 'caring' for the young Centaurian. He more so found the boy interesting. A Centaurian that at six years old could defend off and even kill a guard more than four times his size was nothing short of impressive. Ahran had no remorse for the death of the drunkard pedophile that was lost that night - what a waste of potential it would be to kill the child over someone like him!

Instead - after Ahran sent Yondu to wash off the blood that was not his own - he tasked a few slaves to quickly (discreetly) dispose of the body and clean up the blood. No one questioned the overseer; everyone simply assumed the master had killed the guard himself and thought nothing more of it.

This would be the only time Ahran would 'look out' for the young Centaurian. He would never give the boy any special treatment. His mantra was the backbone on which everything he had was built and he would never jeopardize it. Yondu was still nothing more than a battle slave for the Kree army: he simply had the potential to be a very good one.

Ahran didn't "keep an eye on him" as much as he _tracked_ Yondu's progress; perhaps on some level it was a bet with himself, to see if he was right about how the boy might turn out. So he paid attention; Yondu inevitably picked up on this, though he did not find it to be scrutinizing. Whenever the small child picked up on the fact that Ahran was looking at him, he remembered their unspoken encounter that could of went a very different way but did not and felt... safe. He actually found his master's surveillance rather comforting; he wanted somebody to keep an eye out for him. Maybe if someone is keeping an eye out for him, things like the hallway assault wouldn't happen again.

Thus, Yondu did his best to _be_ his best and stay in the favor of the master overseer that watched him. Yondu obeyed without question every order and conducted himself in his training with a fierce determination and intense focus; matching battle droids throughout the years blow for blow with every move, both in learning and application.

It took a while for Ahran's gambit to pay off, but pay off it did: there was a warrior inside of little Yondu. Ahran got a glimpse at that warrior for the first time during the little Centaurian's training session that covered grappling. Yondu had been 10 years old.

The day was clear-skied and sweltering hot; Ahran was conducting his usual rounds as he approached the sector of the arena where Yondu was training. The boy had just been flung through the air by his mechanical tutor; not for the first time either from the looks of his disheveled helmet and gear.

Yondu was having a bad time; he didn't see how he was supposed to do this. The objective was singular - take down your opponent using a grappling attack - but the robot was practically 15 inches taller than him; even with Yondu having grown a good 10 inches by now, he was still at a significant disadvantage. When he inadvertently complained about this, he was met with an abrupt hit from the "you're-doing-it-wrong" prod (that's what he'd learned to call that thing anyway) to the chest that would knock him to his feet. At this rate, the robot had already sent him to the ground seven or eight times.

Ahran was amused by Yondu's struggle. He had never seen a child get grappling on the first day. It always took a few days at least. Ahran was adamant though about not changing the height; eventually they always would find a way. To him this wasn't any different.

The overseer laughed when Yondu was sent flying yet again from the battle droid's successful grapple and toss, mostly due to the little roll action that happened this time as Yondu hit the dirt.

"You just going to let it keep doing that to you?"

He was _egging him on_. Yondu looked up at his master at the prompting to see his smirking face and looked away quickly. He gritted his teeth in frustration; without a word he got up and charged the robot again.

The robot again made short work of Yondu; every time Yondu would lock into a grapple with the bot the boy would struggle without success to gain the upper hand; fail; then be thrown by the droid as a means of demonstrating the proper outcome of the move. Again, Yondu's being flung through the air like a rag doll prompted a laugh from his overseer, still standing there watching.

God he wished Ahran would go away. It was bad enough getting thrown around where he had a clear height disadvantage, but to be failing in front of him too? The feeling in Yondu's chest of frustration grew and swirled with a mix of growing rage. He gritted his teeth and backed up, giving himself a running start.

He charged forward. As he neared the droid he roared like a little lion and - quite unexpectedly - head butted the abdomen with an upward thrust, his helmet making a loud clang upon contact with the robot. This knocked the droid back, causing it to ever so slightly lose its balance. That one or two seconds was enough for Yondu to capitalize on: with his arms he grappled the legs and midsection, and with all his might (and some help from gravity) he forced the metallic tutor to the ground.

Yondu didn't stop there; his rage mixed with adrenaline had lit a fire within him. Having finally gotten the bot to the ground he right away zeroed in on the droid's head and began wailing a series of blows - leftrightleftrightleftright - grunting to send all his force with his blows as the droid's head was knocked back and forth, clanging all the while in impact with Yondu's armored fists.

Before Yondu knew it a big hand enveloped his shoulder into a grab. "Alright, alright," Ahran said nonchalantly. "Let's not have you breaking the droid," and flung the boy up and off the bot; Yondu once again hit the dirt, but this time in victory. He was panting out of breath, hesitantly looking up in the direction of the overseer. By then Ahran was already walking away, hiding his smirk of disbelief; the boy had actually done it. He was very impressed.

Time went by; Yondu at 13 began his weapons training. He had of course been made to learn shooting and mastery of guns of war first, but after this he was given the opportunity to learn weapons of his choice. Yondu remembered gravitating towards the bow and arrow. He liked the feel of the bow in one hand as he balanced an arrow in the other; he felt strong and precise as he pulled back the string and aimed for a target. Rather than close an eye while aiming Yondu found it more natural for him to whistle a low tone, then release: he had impeccable accuracy, hitting the center of the target every time. There was just something about when he whistled as he readied the arrow to fly that felt like - for lack of a better word - home.

The way Yondu had grown into himself as a Kree battle slave had proved interesting to say the least.

Seasoned through years and years of training and practice, he was without a doubt a warrior at heart. His prowess caught the attention of those beyond master overseer Ahran; it was noticed by everyone. There wasn't a move he hadn't learned, a weapon he couldn't master, a sparring partner he didn't beat. This would earn him both respect and sometimes disdain from the slaves around him. On the rare occasion that someone was brave enough to challenge him (and it did happen), Yondu's eyes would always survey the area for Ahran. Out of habit more than anything; he had grown out of needing the overseer's attention to fuel training himself harder but never grew out of needing to know if he was watching. Of course, it didn't change what would happen next; Yondu would unleash a serious ass-kicking on his hapless challenger, careful not to kill him; just enough of a beating to ensure they wouldn't be challenging him again.

The summers on the small outpost planet were incredibly hot; Yondu, age 16, was under the refuge of the weapons pavilion selecting the weapon he would use in training that day. His selection was a newer one for him - a set of two metal rods connected at one end by a chain. Out in the heat of the planet's sun Yondu practiced flipping and changing hands with the weapon; sweat beaded off his body, toned from the years of training.

The call of a Kree overseer came over the sector in the arena where Yondu and the other adult battle slaves trained:

" **LINE UP**!" he hollered. All the battle slaves reacted by ceasing their sparring matches and putting down their weapons, forming a line in the center of the area. The Kree held a tablet in his hands and he perused down the line, calling names as he went.

This was the selection process; those whose names were being called would board the next ship off the outpost into battle. Yondu was aware of the process, but he was fairly new in this sector of the training grounds. He had migrated through the different sectors of the arena over the years; his presence here indicated he was at the same caliber in skill and training as the battle slave adults around him. There was no reason not to send him into battle; he just hadn't had his name called yet.

At least, not until today.

"Udonta!" Came the belted voice of the Kree, finalizing his roundup of names.

" **Suit up**!" Was the only instruction. With roughly twenty other slaves Yondu went through the weapons and armor stations to retrieve what was needed to go into battle. Yondu hated the feeling of armor so he went with the most minimalistic set of protective outerwear he could. His main weapon: a 5-foot single curve bow made of a red collapsible metal and a high capacity quiver loaded with 100 rounds of metallic arrows.

The ship roared with sound as it hovered over the ground in idle; the battle slaves loaded up into it. Yondu took a seat next to the large metal door, a small window located behind his head. Next to him sat one of the other battle slaves - a man at least 10 years older than him, his skin beige with a grid of black, signature of the Easik race. He nudged Yondu with an elbow as the ship began its ascent from the planet surface.

"Kree are taking out the Badoon." He smirked; the Badoon clearly being the latest flavor of race the Kree were set on "purifying". Yondu, helmeted head pressed against the small window behind him, looked at the fellow slave unimpressed.

"'s that right..." Yondu trailed off as he turned his head to look behind him out the window. This was a show of his disinterest in engaging in conversation, but what was outside the window sincerely did catch his eye. He had never seen the outpost from this high up before.

The slave next to him continued to have his one-sided conversation with Yondu. "This your first time?" The question clearly rhetorical, given he continued: "The battlefield is much different than the training. Most die, because they are weak." He puffed out his chest and slammed his fist against it: "I killed 78 on the last raid." He gleamed (proudly?) "I bet I'll take down more enemies than you."

Yondu scoffed, still focused on the window behind him. "You ain't got nothin' to back that bet up with," he took a moment to make eye contact "Might as well shut up about it." To this the other slave grimaced and huffed, turning face forward in his seat like everyone else was and focused his attention on holding his weapon. He didn't press further; once again Yondu's reputation seemed to precede itself.

They broke the atmosphere of the planet and were now entering space; Yondu thought this was quite the site to see. He kept looking out the window at the endless array of stars; looking, looking, until the stars began to stretch and change shape - the ship making its first jump towards the planet of Badoon.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Feels Like The First Time

 _Soldiers fight for honor. Family fights for love. We all fight to survive._

* * *

The hum of the war machine on its way back from Badoon reverberated throughout the ship; Yondu was perched in his seat with his bow propped, still wearing his helmet and gear, both of which were a lot worse for the wear. The helmet covered the source of blood that had been trickling down his face on the right-hand side.

He absentmindedly felt at the chip installed behind his ear and wondered how exactly they counted his kills...was there some type of sensor in his chip that was connected to his weapons and armor, or was (more likely) there something in his body chemistry that the Kree chip acted on as the indicator, like maybe a spike in his heart rate?

He couldn't say for sure... not that it would really matter if he knew. He pondered back on the battle he just fought, trying to assess his own kill count.

On Badoon the Kree ship was just entering its decent to the surface. The commanding Kree officer positioned himself in the jump position right in front of the door and addressed the 25-man unit onboard:

" ** _The drop point is the same as the extraction point_**!" The man had to yell to be heard over the roaring war rig on which they were boarded; shouts of men and blasts from guns could already be heard outside of the ship.

" ** _Kree soldier units have already engaged! You are being added to the front lines!_** " The commanding officer surveyed the men in front of him; battle ready with weapons in hand, Yondu among them.

As the door opened the commanding officer rallied them with the battle cry Yondu had heard many times before during training:

" ** _LIVE TO FIGHT! DIE WITH HONOR!_** "

" ** _LIVE TO FIGHT! DIE WITH HONOR!_** " The unit chorused in return.

The door opened; Yondu remembered jumping out of the gaping side entrance of the ship and landing on his feet in what could only be described as a smoke-filled war zone. There was so much going on around him that Yondu could barely take it all in, but there was one thing for certain: there were WAY more enemy forces than there were Kree soldiers on the battlefield.

He focused on his objective: eliminate the enemy targets. Without hesitation Yondu took down any enemy in his line of sight with an arrow, so quick and so fast that the perimeter around him started to form stacks of bodies.

He had 100 rounds...he halfway-emptied his quiver where he stood and was about to grab another arrow when he saw a disc flung from a distance hit the dirt about five feet behind him. Little blue lights flashing and a fast beeping sound were all that preceded the explosion: it was a sound wave bomb. A sonic boom filled the air as Yondu and the other surrounding soldiers were launched in all directions. The Centaurian held on tight to his bow as he careened through the air, hitting the dirt with so much force that he was sent into a tumble that knocked his helmet off. His landing planted him on top of what appeared to be a downed fence; the grid patterned wire was sharp and cut into the unprotected side of his skull - this was exacerbated given before he could even get up his head was crushed against the grid by an enemy soldier's foot. The enemy chuckled at the pinned battle slave. "Time to die," the alien growled as he cocked his heavy artillery blaster gun.

Yondu wasn't going down so easy: he needed to flip over to gain any type of advantage. Bracing his weight against the fence with one hand: there was the slightest amount of room between the fence and the ground. The Centaurian struggled against the fence, causing the grid to press further into the wound on the side of his head; Yondu groaned in pain. This was it though: this was his out. Yondu capitalized on some quick thinking and turned his head _into_ the fence itself to flip over on his backside; grab the blaster holstered on his armor at the hip; and send a few shots skyward right into the enemy assailant.

Yondu remembered thinking there was no time to rest. He quickly got up, grabbed his bow and his helmet, strapping his helmet back on his wounded head; he didn't know it then, but that wound would be his first battle scar.

Things were such a blur from there... after he ran out of arrows he improvised a combination of melee attacks with his bow and shots from his side blasters until they ran out of charge - taking down maybe ten enemies, one of which had been equipped with a large automatic heavy artillery blast gun. Yondu collapsed his bow onto its holster on his back and took up the fallen enemy's behemoth rapid-fire gun, letting loose on all and any enemies before him... he lost count after that.

At the end of everything the Kree had won, leaving in their wake a battlefield full of bodies. The commanding officer ordered retrieval of as many fallen soldiers and battle slaves as possible before exiting the planet. It would be a misconception to consider this act a purely selfish one, retaining the cadavers only to retrieve weapons and armor; honor in battle was actually very important to Kree culture. They could care less about the dead of their enemy, but for as many of their own they would ensure a proper cremation of their body, soldiers and battle slaves alike.

Yondu looked around the ship's hangar that had transported him and the other battle slaves into the battle. Twenty-five battle slaves were sent out; including Yondu, eight made it back.

Upon return to the outpost planet the master overseer was among the reception for the ship. One of the other supervising Kree soldiers received the slaves as they unloaded from the ship; without finesse the soldier would force the slaves to turn their heads, allowing a scan of chip imbedded in their skulls. After a few beeps the solider read aloud their tolls for enemies taken at the pleasure of the overseer: "Trexal: 35 kills." "Prenn: 48 kills." "Burodd: 87 kills." "Yes!" The battle slave exclaimed. It was the same slave that had boasted to Yondu on their way out. He looked back to Yondu and chuckled, "see that?"

Yondu rolled his eyes. This guy was a piece of work. The distraction proved reason enough for the processing Kree soldier to rough-handle Yondu (who was next in line), jerking his head harshly to the side to perform the scan.

"Udonta: 138," the Kree soldiers voice had an inflection at the end, one that indicated astonishment. Ahran's eyebrows rose as well and he looked at the commanding officer with approval.

"What?!" Came another exclamation from Burodd as he was taking off his armor. He looked at Yondu in disbelief; the Centaurian smugly raised an eyebrow and gave a mock quizzical look: "Now how'd that happen you reckon?"

Burodd scowled and growled in response but that was the end of it; both battle slaves fell in line with the others to remove their armor and weapons at the stations where they would be cleaned of the grime of war. As Yondu took off his armor and dropped it down in the station he saw a little boy staring up at him with a cloth in hand: stationed at weapons cleaning, a little Centaurian boy. Yondu's eyebrows furrowed as his red eyes met the eyes of the child; hastily he removed his battle gloves and headed to the pods for recovery along with all the other injured.

Yondu had done it; he survived his first battle. He knew no one would celebrate this fact but he was proud that not only had he not died, he had bested that grid-faced idiot from earlier. Nothing else changed about his day from the normal; at least that's how it seemed.

He was about to enter his cage for the evening along with everyone else when he heard his name called down from the front end of the cage block.

"Udonta." Yondu looked towards the voice; it was Ahran, his face as stone-cold as ever. Not receiving instruction beyond the call of his name Yondu took the indication implied and walked past the other slaves funneling into their cages towards his master. Ahran's face remained emotionless with his following instruction: "Come with me," and he turned on his heel down the hall to leave the cells, the young Centaurian following his master obediently as expected.

Yondu had not been down the set of paths the master led him through before; they left the underground and walked across the pavilioned arena to the main building of the outpost. Yondu's life thus far as a battle slave had been lived in the arena, in the corresponding facility, or underground: his attention was actually never turned towards this building until today. After entering they once again traveled down a series of unfamiliar hallways lit by firelight torches on both sides.

Yondu looked at the master overseer as he walked behind him; the man still towered over him it felt. To be fair Yondu had grown significantly over the years and was now capped out just a few inches shy of 6-ft., but he remained small in comparison to a lot of other battle slaves - Ahran himself still looking down to Yondu by a good six inches.

Almost as if he could feel the Centaurian's attention on him Ahran spoke to Yondu as they walked.

"Udonta."

"Yessir?"

"You have not yet lain with a woman, have you."

Whoa - what's with this? It wasn't even a question...was it? Yondu was confused. As his master overseer Ahran practically ran Yondu's entire life: he _knew_ the answer to that question would be _no_. So why ask him?

Yondu's stunned silence warranted the overseer to give a backward gaze, a half-smirk on Ahran's face.

Son of a... Yondu looked down at the ground, frustrated and embarrassed. He _wanted_ to hear Yondu say it. "...no sir." His voice timid, gaze focused so intently on the floor as he walked he could have burnt holes into the ground.

The overseer acknowledged the response with a sense of amusement and carried on as if the exchange on the topic never happened: "You served the Kree army well today; you killed many enemies. The commanding officer relayed the state of the battle when your unit arrived - the battle could have very well been lost, if not for your service."

Ahran had by now stopped in front of a door. It seemed they reached their destination. A guard was posted at the end of this newfound corridor in front of another room several doors down, faced forward; he did not acknowledge Ahran and Yondu's arrival. After entering into a keypad the door in front of Ahran opened; the overseer turned toward Yondu.

"Please." He motioned with his hand into the room. "Consider this a token of our appreciation."

Yondu looked into the room and back to Ahran, but habitually gave no undue hesitation and followed the order he was given.

The room was unlike anything Yondu had ever seen; first of all, it had a bed. _A bed_! Several fixtures along the wall provided the room with a soft orange light. To his left: a table with a platter that included a slab of cooked meat, a loaf of bread, and a branch of some fruit that had the appearance of berries. Yondu stood there in amazement at his surroundings and looked back at his master with disbelieving eyes. Ahran ignored his reaction, pointing past Yondu to a door ahead of him and motioned with his head "that room is where you may shower. There is hot water, if you would like."

Before Yondu could utter so much as a 'thank you' the overseer made to close the door, leaving Yondu alone. He stood there dumbly for a moment, not even knowing what to do.

This was...just so much to digest. He had heard from other slaves that the Kree had a rewards system for those that did well, but he had no idea in terms of expectations. He helped himself to the food on the table (for once not having to dart to grab a portion in a room full of savages) and sat at a chair at the small table, taking it all in.

He relented that he would take his master's advice and utilized the shower; the hot water on his body felt _amazing_ , so good he just stood there until the water ran cold and the small room had filled with steam from the heat. He put back on his clothes afterwards and as he dried off his face and skull he looked at himself in the mirror, paying particular attention to the new scar. It started on the side of his right cheekbone and went all the way up the right side of his head and onto his skull; a series of lines in the grated pattern from the wires of the fence. He reconciled that it wasn't so bad.

As a Centaurian hair never grew on the top of his head (he had yet to have hair grow on his face either); the other men maintained a variety of hairstyles that they administered to themselves, and races like Centaurian were known to sport amateur tattoos on their heads in place of hair. Yondu never felt drawn to that, but did find himself somewhat longing for something, some definition that always seemed to be missing. He looked at the scar and was reminded of his victory in battle; he returned to the main room with a sense of pride.

Yondu did not expect to see a woman - an android woman at that, apparent from the octagon shaped pupils in her eyes and plated skin with a hue like the pink-colored faire on Xandar - sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Oh!" Her sultry mechanical voice was warm and inviting. "There you are. I've been waiting for you."

Yondu was stunned.

He thought back to his master's question from earlier on the way to this room...the odd question/statement made a lot more sense now. So that's what he was getting at...shit. _Thanks I guess?_ What was Yondu even supposed to do? He felt dumbfounded and nervous, frozen in time still holding the towel he had in his hands. Stupid... earlier that day he was in the heat of battle with his life on the line, but all of that was fine in comparison given he'd spent his entire life training. _This_ , this he had no experience with whatsoever.

She smiled at Yondu without reacting to his demeanor and waved at him, "Come over, come over. I won't bite." She moved along the edge of the bed towards the headboard and patted the space next to her. "Just come sit next to me."

Yondu balled up the towel nervously; took a long look at her; and conceded, placing the towel down on the table in the center of the room and following her direction.

Upon coming closer she observed the mark on the side of his head; her face changed from welcome to one of concern and gasped: "what a terrible scar!"

Yondu's face indicated surprise. "Yeah?" He returned. He thought her reaction humorous in an ironic way given he had just been mulling over it himself. He responded with a hint of cheekiness: "Huh...and here I was thinkin' it added character."

The android woman looked confused at first then gave way to a laugh.

"You're funny. Come sit down, handsome."

He was filled with a bit of pleasure at making her laugh. He sat down, but realized he didn't have a clue what he was supposed to do next. Awkwardly he attempted to engage in conversation.

"So...you're an android then?"

Her giggle had mechanical processing undertones in her voice. "Do you not like that?" He shrugged. "Couldn't really tell ya."

She smiled coyly. "There's not that much different between me and you."

Yondu cocked an eyebrow, giving her a look of skepticism. She went on, "After all, I am sentient. My body was made to look real and feel real. The only difference between us is you are made of flesh," she tilted her head to the side and indicated at a panel on her forehead, "and I can be turned off."

Yondu gave her a half-smile in return. She was pretty cute, with her long silver-colored synthetic hair.

"Is this your first time?" She inquired. "You seem young." Her tone was not critical, more matter-of-fact.

He nodded (it actually came off more as a single upward jerk of the head), clasping his hands together nervously and resting with his elbows on his knees, directing his gaze down at the floor. The android remained unaffected by his nervous behavior.

"How long have you been a slave?"

Yondu wasn't prepared for this inquiry. Eyes still on the floor he responded. "Since I was a baby."

"Ohhh" she cooed in response. "So this is very new for you then."

At this his curiosity prompted him to make eye contact. "Whatchu mean?"

Seeing his confusion at her statement she clarified: "I just mean that you are unfamiliar with intimacy and love." She carried on nonchalantly. "A lot of the men tell me they became slaves from being captured in war and then sold, but some of them are like you. So sad... they only know the battlefield and the fighting. To never know a loving embrace, or kiss, or anything but violence and sadness... it's just heartbreaking." Her face wore a look of sincere empathy despite her cutting words.

Something unfamiliar, an old aching pain, began to well up in Yondu; he did NOT like it. His eyebrows furrowed and wordlessly he again looked away from the android woman to the floor.

She realized she had struck a nerve in error and tried to correct. "Hey, hey," she soothed. "It's okay. There's nothing wrong with that. That's why I'm here."

The hand that attempted to caress was met with surprise from the young Centaurian; in a knee jerk response he batted her hand defensively away, now facing towards her.

"Hey," she soothed yet again. Slowly so that he was fully aware of her actions she again rested her hand on his bare shoulder. "It's okay." With much care and deliberation she gravitated closer, closer until she rested herself against his body into an embrace.

Yondu did not reject her advance but he was paralyzed, his arms awkwardly hovering now over her as she pressed herself tighter. "It's okay." She whispered again. Her fingers drew up and down his back; the gentle caress was so unfamiliar but... it was nice. Yondu was lulled in by it, his arms slowly coming to rest around the android's body.

The last time Yondu had been held by anyone was... when he was six months old, by his mother. Yondu of course didn't know this, but something inside him did. Something awoke in response to this embrace. From the vast pit of emptiness inside him it swelled up, up through his core and into his throat. An aching, longing feeling that planted a single word in his brain: _more_.

He closed his eyes for fear of tears accompanying this emotion and clutched the woman now tightly in the embrace. She reacts with a chuckle. "Aww, there we go," she breathed, caressing his back with a rub of encouragement. They stayed like that for a moment or two before releasing. The android took Yondu's face in her hands and smiled.

"You do like girls right?" She inquired. "I just want to make sure." Yondu hadn't quite composed himself. To be fair he had never really questioned this, what he did or didn't like.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" She asked pointedly, perhaps an attempt to work through Yondu's daze and confusion.

The sixteen year old was held in the gaze of her crystal blue eyes; sure enough, he was entranced by the beauty before him. He wouldn't have known how to say it without guidance, but: "Yeah...you're beautiful."

She beamed in approval at his response and leaned her face into his, their lips coming to a soft introduction. A feeling like that of electricity resonated from the kiss throughout Yondu's body as he closed his eyes, welcoming again this new, galvanizing form of contact.

"I'll be so gentle with you baby don't you worry" the bionic woman reassured when the kiss broke. Yondu raised his hand to clasp hers as it was still pressed against his face. He couldn't find any words worth saying... so he simply nodded. And with this sign of consent, she engaged him again in a tender kiss.

The day had truly proven to be a day of firsts.

Yondu had never been in battle before that day; he had never had a room, a meal, a shower with warm water, a bed to himself; outside of his first six months of life, a time he couldn't consciously even tap into, he had never been held, or kissed, or honestly received any form of intimacy before that day, before that moment. The beautiful android was gentle with him as promised and went slow, showing Yondu what to do and how to be in this intimate act. The encounter tapped into his deepest levels of emotion; intoxicating, giving him the feeling that he could not get enough when it was all said and done.

The night would eventually come to an end. The next morning everything would go back to the way it was. The young man still treasured every moment of the night that he had, and slept the most peaceful sleep of his life thus far with the android girl in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: War and Peace

 _Same thing, different day._

* * *

It was yet another scorching summer day on the outpost when Yondu was engaged in combat, practicing his skills against another battle slave in the way of the sword. His opponent: none other than Burodd, his boisterous self-declared adversary. Burodd grinned menacingly as he flipped his sword into an offensive position and circled around the Centaurian.

"It's go-time, Udonta" He taunted. "I'm sick and tired of you always coming out on top. You win every sparring match. You always best me in combat kills."

To this Yondu rolled his eyes but still did not break focus on his stance as he waited for his opponent to strike.

"You still goin' on about that?" He drawled. "That was three years ago! You've come back on tour with more kills than me since then haven't you?"

Burodd groaned angrily. "No, I haven't! You KNOW I haven't!" Yondu pretended to look thoughtful before smirking at his sparring partner, still engaged in a defensive position, "Yeah... you're probably right."

An irritated Burodd came at Yondu with his sword but was bested – not for the first time in that session either. Yondu knew he shouldn't egg the alien on; dammit if it was just too much fun. "You forgot to mention how I always win in the pit," he goaded with a wink and a pointing gesture.

This infuriated Burodd even further. "Arrogant! Imbecile!" The alien came at Yondu once again wildly, this time met with a hit to the face from the blunt end of Yondu's sword handle before getting a Centaurian knee to the abdomen, followed up by a hard armored palm to the nose. Burrodd's anger reached a boiling point as he exploded on the Centaurian. "GRAHHHH!" He roared. " **I'm gonna kill you Udonta**!"

Yondu gave him a look and scoffed.

"Are you serious?" He berated the alien opposite of him, a hand now on the Centaurian's side.

"You kill me in a sparring match they just gonna kill you. Come on now." He gestured over to the two Kree guards currently standing on the sector outskirts supervising them; he was right. Battle slaves that killed outside of combat would without a doubt meet a swift end themselves. The guards exchanged an awkward glance with one another at the mention before returning their focus to the show in front of them. "Don't be stupid," with that Yondu flipped the sword in his hand back into position for sparring offensively. "You really wanna kill me? Settle it in the pit." It was 100% beside the fact that this guy was _dreaming_ if he thought he stood a chance at killing Yondu.

"FINE. You bastard" the patterned-skinned battle slave tore off his helmet and slammed it to the ground along with his sword, pointing at the Centaurian. "I'll see you in the pit!" before storming off in a huff.

Yondu sighed. What a pain in the ass this guy had turned out to be. At the same time, in that moment he felt at peace - he'd much rather be training than sent on tour to battle.

Yondu's first performance on the battlefield at sixteen would set a precedent for the ones to come. After three years of going into battle however the occupation had started to wear on him.

He found himself longing for the comfort of being in the arena. Not necessarily because it was _safer_ ; no, that wasn't it at all. There was contentment in his institutionalization. More than that: he preferred wholesale the person he was at the outpost to the person he had to be when on the battlefield.

At 19 now Yondu had been transported to many different sectors of the galaxy with the war rig as his ticket to ride. It was unfortunate that with all the glory space had shown him, Yondu's only real take-away from his experiences was the onslaught of destruction the Kree army would leave in its wake, Yondu himself included as their weapon.

He did his job, and he did it well... something in his core however prevented him from going full speed to the end of the spectrum. He would not allow himself to become a monster, but he could not stop those around him from acting monstrous; which is exactly what they were.

The Kree purists were doing more than conquering: they were _exterminating_.

Yondu could recount in raids times where he came across women and children; cowering at his feet, begging for their lives. He would pass them over... the Kree soldiers behind him would not. Their screams and cries for mercy would echo in his ears and haunt his dreams. At one point a handful of Kree soldiers had picked up on Yondu's avoidance to slaughtering innocents in battle; this was unfortunate, as it prompted on one tour cornering Yondu in a civilian home and ordering him to take down a small family in front of them. Just to show him his place: he would do as the Kree army commanded. No exceptions.

While times of war would always ebb and flow, things would never quite calm down in the lives of those on the outpost. Peacetime was a foreign concept; if not engaged in war the Kree passed the time through lucrative business opportunities like lending battle slaves out to mercenaries and gambling on the outcomes of fights with slaves pitted against one another. These sorts of fights were conducted in the 'pit' that Yondu referenced earlier: located in the lower levels of the main outpost building.

That building had a life all its own: the Kree soldiers that ran the outpost lived there; various levels of the building acted as stores, food purveyors, trading posts, etc. All of this and more, all within the massive repurposed battleship. The floors spiraled like a staircase all the way up to the top with the pit located below at the lowest visible point in the building. Literal to its name, it had 20-foot walls with doors on opposite sides. The floors had open view of the pit itself and thus they often acted as barricaded watch points for any spectators to observe the carnage.

It was common practice across outposts to use the time not spent in battle making money and this was a great way to do it. Battle slaves would be matched up for a fight; Kree soldiers and outpost visitors alike would place their bets. It wasn't necessarily a fight to the death, but when surrounded by the stone blocks of the pit when money was on the line, anything goes.

Yondu was a frequent flyer in this way of life by now; he anticipated Burodd would get his go at him someday. He just didn't know when. You didn't get to choose who you were matched up against in the pit. You volunteered to do the fight, but who you fought depended on... whatever they wanted to see.

* * *

Yondu headed towards the holding cages where he would await the fight they had planned for him that day. He hadn't lost a fight yet - he didn't expect today to be any different. That was, until he came across three Kree soldiers.

"Well well... what do we have here?" The ring leader in the center of the three taunted. He went by the name Braix; the soldiers to his left and right respectively, San and Dregg. These soldiers pulled from the school of thought that Yondu was the "too-good-for-his-own-good" sort and needed to be taken down a peg. They took quite a bit of pleasure in antagonizing him.

Without warning or waiting for a response from the stone-faced Centaurian the soldiers pounced; Yondu suddenly found himself against the wall in the corridor. His head, his forearms, his lower back: the three soldiers (wisely, given who they chose as their target) all took part in subduing Yondu, his face uncomfortably smashed against the cold hard concrete.

Being pinned against a wall... this was traumatically familiar.

Yondu couldn't stop his unconscious reaction: the resurgence of terror and the need to defend dangerously swirled with the desire to kill... all of it welled inside him and screamed to be let out. So much self-discipline was required to keep it at bay; he tightly clenched his jaw, through his nose breathing rapidly. He resisted the urge to struggle.

San (the Kree to his left) laughed: " _Hahahaha_ \- you see that, Braix? Look at his jaw!" He prodded the Centaurian's face with the butt of his dagger, all the while grinning with a cruel amusement. Yondu made fierce eye contact, as if with his look alone he could kill. "He looks so angry at you."

If he were on the battlefield he could probably get away with killing these assholes. This unfortunately wasn't, and he knew better than to expect any special treatment from his master if he were to have a repeat offense of killing another guard (or in this case, a few guards). He quelled the rage brewing inside him, channeling all his energy into clenching his jaw and repeating a mantra in his head: _just don't say nothin_. He knew they would not kill him. How far they _would_ go though, he could not be sure.

Dregg, the soldier on Yondu's right, had his own spear pressed into the pinned battle slave's side. Not enough to break the skin - just to cause him discomfort and pain. "Open your mouth." His voice was deep and demanding.

Their goal it seems was to subject him to as much humiliation as possible. Yondu subserviently opened his mouth; San laid his spear flush against the wall perpendicular to Yondu's face and slid it over. Yondu made even more vulnerable now with the metal rod held in place in part with his teeth rested on his tongue... it tasted awful. San laughed cruelly at the sight. "His teeth are so messed up." He tapped Yondu's front tooth with his fingernail.

"Look at his pants." Dregg observed the slave's worn attire. "You think with all the money he's getting from winning fights in the pit he could afford a new pair. Maybe he's too stupid to know how money works."

Yondu - forced to stay flush against the wall - tried to keep his breathing and his emotions under control with this humiliating scrutiny.

"Oh you didn't know?" He couldn't see the source of the voice but he could _feel_ the son of a bitch he was so close. It was Braix, the soldier pinning him from behind. "Udonta never takes the money from the pit. He'd rather have a night on the block."

"The block" was in reference to the corridor of guarded rooms reserved for battle slaves when the overseers saw fit to reward them for doing well; in combat, a gambling matchup, etc.

They weren't wrong; Yondu never did take the money. Other slaves swore they were going to save up their wins until they could afford to buy their own freedom, but Yondu found this to be nothing more than noise. No one seemed to have a grasp on how much they were "worth" in the first place, and even if they did: few seemed to have a good idea what they would do if they ever got out of this life. Yondu... he did alright here in this life as a battle slave. If he enjoyed the escape nights on the block gave him - the comfort of the amenities and a lover - even for just a night, so what? Regardless: the exposure of his character at the hands of these callous guards left him with feelings of shame.

The others laughed at Braix's reveal. "Really?!" jeered San. "That's so pathetic." He taunted Yondu further, Dregg still pressing the tip of the spear under his ribs. "Guess what they say about Centaurian's being simple low level life forms is true. Good thing you're a slave - this works out perfectly for you."

A seething rage burned inside Yondu as he relented to his pinned position against the wall. His face started to flush and grow hot. The confinement in this position was going to drive him crazy he could feel it. He fantasized about shoving the spear currently prodding into his side through the throats of his assailants.

"Flip him over." Braix ordered.

 _Finally_. Yondu was again pinned by the three manhandling him, but this front-facing position was at least more tolerable.

"Listen up peasant" the ringleader's face was uncomfortably close to the slave's "I'm gonna need you to lose your match in the pit tonight." As a show of intimidation he took the blaster that had been at his side; cocked it, then jammed it under Yondu's chin painfully. "I've got a lot of money riding on your opponent."

The slave looked Braix dead in the eye, muttering through teeth clenched under the pressure of the weapon: "Well that was stupid bet for you to make."

Yondu either didn't realize the words came out of his mouth or he didn't care. Albeit accurate, it was definitely the wrong thing to say.

Without hesitation Braix took his blaster and **slammed** it against Yondu's mouth. Yondu felt something hard hit the back of his throat. _They had knocked out one of his teeth!_

Dregg suddenly let go of his hold on the Centaurian and beckoned his associates "Hey, hey, hey," and motioned up the hallway "Look."

Characteristically wordless with his hands clasped behind his back was the superior to all parties involved in the assault: General Ahran.

The soldiers released Yondu at once and kneeled respectfully as part of the Kree salute. "General." Braix acknowledged the formidable presence of the overseer, to which he gave no response. The three soldiers made quick work of vacating themselves from the hallway. Yondu was left standing there with a mouthful of blood.

The battle slave pushed himself off the wall and stood at attention before his master. The scenario was all too familiar; how long had Ahran been standing there _this_ time? He hadn't interjected as much as his presence was discovered...just how far was he going to let those soldiers go?

 _No_... Yondu thought to himself as his hands balled up into fists. _Who am I kidding._ Ahran would never have stopped them, he already knew that. Yondu's feelings were hurt along with his pride; this translated into anger.

"Udonta." The overseer beckoned, the slave's eyes darting to meet his master's.

"Do not lose."

Of course. He would have been a fool to expect anything else. The Centaurian forced a breath through his nose and spit (a mouthful of blood along with his tooth) where the wall met the floor.

"Yessir." He muttered coldly, and with that he moved past his master towards the holding cages for fights.

* * *

Yondu would win the fight, as he always did. He passed the opportunity for money, as he always did. All in all Yondu had had a pretty bad day. He was ready for an escape, a release. He welcomed a room on the block that night, skipping even a trip to the pods for healing and elected to bandage up his knuckles (bloodied from delivering blows in the fight) in the bathroom of his room for the night.

Yondu took a moment to check out his teeth in the bathroom mirror, observing the newfound empty space in the front-left on the top row. "Bastards..." Yondu muttered to himself and he left his reflection behind.

The room was set up with a platter of food as well as a bottle containing alcoholic liquid - the usual indicator that he had earned his overseer quite a bit of money in winning the fight. Yondu assumed a woman would be sent along at some point since no one was there already.

He wasn't wrong; as he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, bottle in hand, the door opened. A yelp caught his attention and he looked over to see a slave girl thrust through the doorway. She stumbled and hit the floor. Upon looking up at Yondu she choked out a startled sob and crawled over to a corner, huddling there frightened.

Yondu was bewildered. No... no, Yondu was pissed. With a fierce steadfastness he slammed the bottle of liquor down on the table and banged his fist on the now-closed door.

"Hey!" He shouted.

Rather than the entire door open a panel at eye level became present on the door; the guard on the other side of the door was not Kree. He was massive, with a reptilian face and bulging eyes.

Yondu was acting uncharacteristically indignant for dealing with a guard; it was clear the events of the day had really gotten him to his breaking point.

"What the hell is this?!" He demanded with an intense look on his face, pointing behind him at the girl in the corner. "Where did she come from?"

The guard shrugged. "How should I know." He gave Yondu an insulting look. "You mad she's not a bot?" Yondu's face showed fury at that statement, the guard giving way to a vicious smile. "All the pleasure models are used up. It's a girl. What's the problem."

Yondu was fuming. It wasn't the fact that it was a _girl_ that was the problem; he had been sent girls before, slave girls that were already used to the "occupation", and he had a good time with them. The android girls however took the whole issue of _consent_ out the picture; they always _wanted_ to be there. This girl? She had to have been plucked from the facility slaves at random; she in no _way_ wanted to be there... she was terrified! Not to mention from the looks of it quite young. She couldn't have been older than 16, and if Yondu were the betting type he would guarantee that she'd never been with anyone before.

His jaw clenched he continued, "This is bullshit. I won my fight, and I deser-" he ended up choking on his words. The guard's hand had come swiftly through the panel and was now closing around Yondu's throat. He lifted Yondu off the ground a few inches, bringing his face close to the open panel to meet the guard's.

"Anything else?" The guard's voice was menacing. He let Yondu struggle and choke a moment longer before dropping the slave to the floor, the panel closing afterwards. Funny... Yondu had always thought of this room as a form of refuge, not a cell. Guess he was wrong about that. This day really was just shit.

The Centaurian took a moment on his knee, coughing and trying to regain his composure. _Should have known better_...he got to his feet and looked over at the girl, still cowering in the corner but looking at him.

With a sigh he picked back up the bottle and took a swig. He wiped his mouth before gesturing at her with a wave.

"You wanna come out of that corner? I ain't gonna do nothin to ya, you don't have to worry about that." He sat down, indicating at the other seat with the bottle. "Might as well have a drink."

The girl, tears welled in her eyes, sniffled and hesitantly crawled out of the corner, making her way over to Yondu and sat in the chair at the table opposite him. Yondu watched her movements as he took another drink and slid the bottle over to her.

"What's your name?" He asked.

The girl nervously twisted her hands in her lap; she wore a tattered dress for clothing, garb typical for that of a facility slave. "Sarai." She looked up to meet the Centaurian's fiery red eyes. "What's your name?"

Noting her apprehension to taking the bottle Yondu took another swig before placing it back down in front of her. "Yondu."

She looked at the bottle then at him. "So...you're not going to..." her eyes gravitated to the floor as she trailed off from what she was unwilling to say.

He shook his head. "Not if you don't want to."

She had long black hair, brown eyes, maple colored skin. She was beautiful, albeit young. Her face showed how perplexed she was at what was transpiring with the Centaurian a good three years older than her. Pulling at the ends of her dress she asked: "why?"

Yondu looked at her. His mind flashed being six years old again, how he hadn't known it then but he knew quite well now what that was all about; remembering how he had felt in that moment put a sickly pit in his stomach. He shook his head, diverting his eyes from her, and stated simply "Just ain't what I'm about, darlin."

"Oh," was her timid reply. There was an awkward silence that Yondu saw fit to break. "Besides," he took the bottle once again, "maybe you'll change your mind." She looked at him surprisingly and he shot her a wink before taking another swig.

The young man had spent enough nights with women to know how to be charming. It was especially handy when his partner for the evening was organic in nature. Sarai couldn't help herself; his confidence gave way to her letting her guard down a little, and with a timid smile she finally did reach for the bottle and took a drink. He continued to engage her in conversation.

"So when'd you become a slave?"

She shrugged. "When I as a baby. They assigned me to the kitchen when I was old enough." She looked away and uncomfortably stared at the ground. "The women said pretty girls don't stay in the kitchen very long. Girls older than me got taken away and they never came back. I was so scared when they took me..." she trailed off, her voice cracking as tears threatened to reemerge.

Yondu acknowledged her statement. "Huh... that's a raw deal for being pretty."

This made her laugh; she wiped her eyes and took the bottle for a drink. "Yeah I guess so."

The bottle again made its way back to Yondu. He continued, "You never been with someone before?"

She shook her head, now embarrassed. When she looked at him to gauge his reaction he shrugged. "Well we don't gotta do nothin, like I told ya."

"...okay."

They continued their chat: they actually ended up talking quite a bit about a lot of different things. They shared what it was like to be in their particular line of service; they had quite a few things in common, given they had both been introduced into slavery at infancy; being raised in the pods until task assignment... the sterilization procedure they both went through at puberty, which it turned out was quite the sore spot for the girl... Yondu had never really given it much thought, but he knew to listen: girls liked to be listened to.

She had much more to say than the young man because... well, hurting and killing people wasn't really great "getting to know you" conversation. He was happy to just listen and drink. Yondu found himself smiling - not to be held back by the gap in his teeth - and took pleasure in seeing his companion for the evening was enjoying herself too, sharing the bottle of liquor between them.

After a while a moment of silence exchanged. Sarai prompted the young man. "Yondu?"

"Yeah?"

"...what if...I wanted to do something?"

 _There we go_. Yondu had banked on things going in this direction. He gestured at her with his head and stated simply: "well c'mon then."

Slowly she stood and walked around the small table to Yondu's side. Still seated he took her hands and looked up at the nervous girl in front of him. A hand on her hip guided her to his lap. "I-I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"That's alright," he replied in his soft voice, caressing her back. "I'll show you."

Yondu took to the girl with the same level of tender loving care that he had been shown that first night, his first time those years ago. The girl was lucky; had she been thrown into another room that evening, the experience would have gone a _very_ different way.

Afterwards they laid on the bed, out of breath with bodies intertwined, covered by the sheets. Sarai rested her head against the Centaurian's chest, circling her fingers lazily. She was thinking about something.

"Yondu?"

"Yeah?" He replied sleepily. For him, this was the best part. Not just the aforementioned intimacy or the sleeping in an actual bed... it was getting to be close to someone, falling asleep with someone in his arms... honestly, it was the sole reason he looked so forward to nights where he won a fight.

The girl pondered on her words before she spoke. "I've never felt like this before." She looked up at his face from where her head lay. "I really like you."

His eyes closed, he rubbed her shoulder in their embrace. "I like you too sweet thing."

"What if we got out of here together?"

At this Yondu's eyes opened from their sleepy daze. He stared up at the ceiling not saying anything. His face contorted into a look that mirrored the anxiety starting to grow in him. _The hell was she talking about?_

Sarai, not aware of his reaction, continued: "I've heard that battle slaves can take money for their fights. You could use money to save up and buy our freedom. We could get out of here; go to a different planet where people live normal lives."

She clenched the sheets into her fist and brought it to her mouth nervously. Speaking more softly now: "I know I can't earn anything, and we couldn't have any kids, but... but I would take care of everything else. I could cook, and clean..." her voice was closest now to a whisper, "...and I could love you."

This picture that she painted played out in Yondu's head. Not being a battle slave anymore... living a "normal" life... what did that even mean? Did it mean a job where he wouldn't hurt people, wouldn't kill people? Having a family...like a wife and kids? _Like the families he's slaughtered_? His inner demon laughed at him cruelly.

Yondu _couldn't_ have kids. He would _never_ be a father. Or a husband, or anything for that matter other than what he had been made to be: a weapon.

Yondu's insides turned to stone. What a cruel joke this was, even _thinking_ about life being different than it was. This girl, she was saying these things, but she didn't know. How could _anyone_ love him? _All_ he knew was hurting people, killing people, innocent people! What kind of life would even be possible for someone like him?!

It had been _years_ since Yondu had last felt like he was going to cry. Bitterly he swallowed his emotions down, down back into the pit they came from. He resented the girl in his arms: how _dare_ she even play like this was a possibility - she was so, so _stupid._ He already had such a shitty day... the entire endeavor had effectively ruined his night.

"Alright." His voice sounded like he had been holding his breath. "We're done here." He moved her arm off from around him and made his way to get up and off the bed. She sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Look...you seem like a nice girl." He turned to have his eyes meet hers. "I ain't nice. You think for a second that either one of us would know what to do out there? You got your head in the clouds."

He got up to make his way to the door; Sarai wrapping the bed sheet around herself and getting up after him. "But" she gave a sigh of exasperation "Yondu-" He interrupted her. "You don't have a clue what you're talking about. You don't even know me! But we're together once and now you want me to be your what, your boyfriend?" His face full of anger as he turned his full attention toward her. "Sorry if I'm not tempted to take you up on the offer to use _my_ money to get _you_ out of here so we can go have some fantasy life as a family where neither one of us can have kids."

Tears had welled up in the young girl's eyes, the young man's words cutting her deep. "Yondu you're being so mean!"

"I'm being **mean**?!" He looked at her incredulously, getting even more furious now. "You serious right now?! Do you think anybody else - **anybody else** \- that you would've gotten thrown in here with would've done anything other than _rape you_?! I'm being mean..." he scoffed. With that he banged on the door, met with the face of the guard once again.

"I'm done here."

"Yondu wait!" She grabbed his shoulder to which he flung her hand away. He looked at her coldly as he shrugged her off.

"I'm never gonna be what you want. Your boyfriend, your savior, none of it.

You ain't nothin to me.

No one is."

Her eyes reflected heartbreak; she covered her mouth to hold back a sob. As soon as the door in front of him opened he turned heel to walk out the door past the guard. No escort was needed to take him back to his cage... he knew all too well the way.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Deliverance

 _How can you be ready for a day you thought would never come?_

* * *

"You done with that med tape." The guard said nonchalantly to Yondu through the bars of the holding cages. The battle slave's eyes flicked up to him briefly. Using the roll of bandaging in his right hand he slowly finished wrapping his left arm before tossing the roll back to the guard through the bars.

"That was your third fight in the tournament, right?" The 'tournament': they did this every so often to rev up excitement from the gambling participants.

Yondu sat with his back against the bars in his holding cage, resting his forearms on his knees. "Yep." he said slowly. The heat of the day had prompted the doors to the holding cages hangar be left open; Yondu appreciated the breeze that came through. He hoped the guard would lose interest in continuing dialogue so he could enjoy a moment's peace before his next fight.

No such luck. "I bet on you - not a ton - but even with just your wins so far I'm looking at a pretty nice payout." The guard looked eagerly towards the battle slave. "You're going to keep fighting, right?"

' _You're going to keeping fighting, right...'_ Never mind that Yondu's body was in shambles. The bandaging quickly revealed fresh blood seeping through; bruises and scratches could be seen on nearly every inch of visible skin. One look from anybody would've surely come to the same conclusion: Yondu was not in the best condition to fight.

The bruised and battered Centaurian sighed; a sharp pain accompanied this action on the lower-right side of his chest. Yondu wondered if his ribs were broken or just cracked. "Yep."

He could hear the life of the outpost as he sat there; weapons clashing in the arena, the muffled shouts from those watching the current fight, ships arriving and departing in the background (though unclear from which direction).

"Well...I'm rooting for you." The guard went on. It seemed he started to feel uncomfortable, unsure of where to go next with the conversation. "Do you...want some water or something?"

At this Yondu looked at the guard awkwardly. "...Sure..." The guard took the opportunity for an exit. Yondu was left alone. The battle slave sat there, resonating in the heat and in pain - his spirit as beaten as his body.

It was times like this it'd be really nice to just be... his _own person_. That thought: it had crossed his mind more and more as of late.

He had gone through a period of resentment toward his life: for everything he would never have, from love to even himself. He resolved that his salvation lied in what he _did_ have. The clothes he wore (he did eventually gain newer attire). How he chose to look (he started growing out his facial hair, keeping a scruff on his chin until it was too long and required shaving). More than anything, he owned the fight for his life on the battlefield.

The Kree Intergalactic Army had graduated to become the Kree Empire - finally, as formidable a force as the Nova. Battle tactics evolved along with this development: land battles were forgone by and large for battles in the air and space. To meet demands battle slaves were made to learn to fly; one would think the change in pace would've added a new level of excitement. Getting to pilot a ship, soaring through the air and the stars alike; Yondu however was not a fan. Combat in the skies was a deviation from his enslavement's one contentment... dropping bombs, shooting missiles? This wasn't the way of a warrior at all. Now he was just fighting for the Kree, which he _hated_.

If he couldn't apply the warrior within he felt devoid of true purpose; it wasn't just about following orders. It was a means to survive; thus Yondu approached every fight in the pit as if he were seeking the meaning of his existence by fighting to preserve it.

Yondu gradually stopped caring so much about his own wellbeing, taking part in the gambling around him with his life as his bargaining chip. He no longer lived for the reward of the fight but for the fight itself, and some days - sometimes - he really wished he had freedom enough for his fights to serve _his_ purpose alone.

He didn't care about other people and what they wanted, what bets they had placed... Ahran was the only exception. Yondu knew it was a feeling that originated from his childhood, but he also felt respect towards his master, more respect for him than anyone else. Beyond that and his need to fight... he probably couldn't give you his reason for living.

Yondu silently hoped his next fight would come sooner vs. later; exhausted, he didn't know how much stamina he had left. The longer he sat there the more prevalent his injuries felt and thus harder to ignore. He needed to pass the time; he did what he usually would do in moments where he was alone- Yondu whistled.

One long low tone with an uptick at the end.

He repeated that action and played with various tones, the tune echoing against the open walls of the hangar, as he waited for what would come next.

* * *

"This place is huge." Stakar Ogord was clearly impressed with the massive Kree battleship-turned-building that he and his Pluvian associate were visiting that day. Martinex also took a moment to take it all in. With a breath came the observation, "I think we've seen bigger."

The men stood out in their navy blue garbs, Stakar quite so given the collar of his jacket had a glowing trim. Aliens of all sorts were bustling around them, passing them in both directions; stations along the wall were densely populated; full of wares to sell, drinks to buy, business deals being made, and more. Everyone had something they were trying to do or somewhere they wanted to be: these men no different.

"So what all are you getting?" Stakar turned to his first mate. Martinex looked at the screen his tablet populated in his hand. "Let's see... Charlie-27 wants a black hole generator... not getting him that," he quipped with a tone that was matter-of-fact, "Mainframe is reminding us to buy fuel reserves. Krugarr wants me to look for this book with these symbols on it-" "Don't get him that," Stakar instructed. "He needs some time off from that magic shit. You remember the last time? Took a week to clean up the mess."

The Pluvian continued. "-we've also got the usual list to stock up on for the crew, and a couple parts for maintenance on the M-ships." He turned his attention from the tablet to his captain. "You're scouting, I take it?" Stakar's aura exuding confidence, he smiled. "You know it." Martinex clearly had a much drier personality than his Arcturan companion. "Well good luck." Before he starts off the captain confirms, "I'll give you a heads up then when it's time to prep to leave." With a nod of the head Martinex acknowledges, "Aye aye Captain."

"Oh, and Martinex!" Stakar called to his first mate as he started his walk away. The Pluvian turned back. "Yeah?" "Get Aleta some of those glow-treat things that she likes." "But it's not on the list." "Yeah, but you know she wants it." Stakar grinned childishly and shot his first mate a wink. The humor was lost on him. With a salute that involved two hearty beats to his chest as a bid of farewell the glass-skinned alien made his way forward and disappeared into the crowd of people.

Stakar readjusted his jacket and ran a hand through his jet-black hair before turning to the android woman at a station next to him. "Excuse me," he said, flashing a smile: "can you tell me which floor I'd want to be on to get the best view of the fight?" She smiled back. "Of course! You'll find the fourth level to be ideal for viewing purposes."

The charismatic captain at 30 years old had done this routine a few times already; he, along with his first mate Martinex, would go to Kree slave outposts known for their gambling around battle slave matchups. His goal: expansion.

Stakar was a man with a vision - he had a thirst for life. He loved adventure, having fun, traveling the stars. Most of all he loved _getting_ , and not always through reputable means. Stakar was a space pirate; but not just any space pirate!

He was a Ravager.

The leader of the Ravagers, a group he had started. His clan at the moment was small: other than his closest friends (Martinex, Aleta, Charlie-27, Mainframe, and Krugarr), they were just shy of 20 - a mixed bag of mercenaries, misfits, and former battle slaves. Stakar had never been a slave but his personality made him very empathetic to those who were enslaved. He couldn't fathom a life without freedom, a life where at your own discretion you couldn't just go, see the stars... maybe steal something... he felt strongly that if given the chance, anyone in that way of life would appreciate the opportunity to get out of it, and in turn make a solid crewmate.

So far he had been right about that - hence Stakar scouted: he would pay attention to the fights to see who brought what to the table. Once he identified someone with what he was looking for, he'd track down who was in charge and make the purchase. Not simply to _buy_ the slave: to free them, offer them a home with the Ravagers. He was criticized by Martinex for the decision to make the purchase first; granted, there was never a guarantee that they would _want_ to join. But to date Stakar had yet for someone to tell him 'no'.

By the time he reached the fourth level the next fight was just about to get started. A stout alien acted as the announcer for the fight and stood center ring.

" **Alllllright** ," his voice amplified by the piece attached to his ear, " **If you haven't placed your bets do it now, last chance!** " The announcer gestured to the challengers as he introduced them to the rambunctious crowd.

" **He hasn't lost a fight yet, let's see if his number is up: Yondu Udontaaa!** " The announcer's voice carried over the crowd - it was hard to tell who was cheering and who was booing, there was so much commotion. Stakar observed the alien just introduced: a Centaurian, adorned in pants made of a durable black material and curiously lacking in footwear. He caught Stakar's eye, mainly because the fight hadn't even started yet but already he looked _beat the hell up_.

" **Aaaand his challenger, I know a lot of bets are on this one: Grunder the Devourerrrr**!" The crowd erupted as the alien - unlike his counterpart - took a moment to rally his following and taunt his opponent, stomping his feet and roaring at Udonta, baring a mouthful of sharp teeth. He looked unimpressed despite the fact his opponent was massive, towering at at least a foot his height (if not two) with swollen biceps, lime green skin, and a sinister look on his face.

Stakar figured the match was over before it began: he didn't see how the Centaurian was even in the ring given how he looked... but as soon as the match started things changed. As if triggered by the flip of a switch when the fight started Udonta _unleashed;_ a flurry of blows were landed on the giant from all directions, Udonta evading his opponent with a speed Stakar would have thought impossible for someone already in bad condition. The behemoth was not going down easily by any means. The tides shifted back and forth as the fight progressed of who was on top; dammit if Udonta wasn't holding his own.

Stakar's interest really peaked about halfway through the fight: the giant in the ring grabbed the Centaurian by the shoulder and the hip, as if he were a child's plaything, and threw his opponent against the wall. It'd be a wonder if something hadn't been broken upon impact.

He struggled to return to his feet. On one knee, panting with his fists to the floor, looking down: leaving himself incredibly open. Stakar thought the alien must've finally reached the end of his rope and could fight no longer.

His opponent saw the opportunity to strike and wasted no time. Grunder roared, sharp teeth bared, and pummeled towards his downed opponent.

Seconds before the massive green alien came down Yondu suddenly rose up to meet the oncoming attack in a most unpredictable way: in the last second he turned with his arm at the level of Grunder's mouth, using his forearm to block the assault. The giant held no quarter: he met the forearm of the Centaurian with a ferocious bite, sinking his teeth in deep. The crowd went absolutely wild. Stakar held a poker face as he watched but he was fascinated: rather than struggle against the bite Udonta leaned into it, grasping the head of his opponent with his other hand, throwing the weight of his body to the ground and maneuvering his body to lock his legs around his opponent's neck.

Grunder was now stuck it seemed - he bit down to prompt his opponent's release. Nothing doing; the Centaurian gritted through the pain (a couple of gaps in his teeth apparent) as his opponent rose from the ground. His position now one of advantage: Udonta started wailing away relentlessly at Grunder's head with an already bandaged and bloody-knuckled fist. The green giant's bite eventually let off as he tried his might to get the smaller alien down to no avail. With his bitten arm now free things just got worse, Udonta keeping up the blows - now with two hands - his opponent all the while locked in his hold until finally he fell to the ground.

Stakar watched as the blows just kept coming, the giant's face getting bloodier and bloodier. The fight had turned on a dime and looked now like a straight-up beating: _was he going to kill him?_

Just as the thought crossed Stakar's mind the Centaurian stopped; out of breath he relented his grip and rose from the ground, the giant beneath him now so beaten all he could do was utter a gasping groan for mercy. The crowd above was in a frenzy. " ** _Kill 'iimm_!** " Came a savage cry from an alien a floor below.

Udonta looked up to the crowds at their chants for a finishing move; his sight was to someone in particular. The Arcturan curiously followed to see where he was looking; on the same floor opposite side of Stakar was a formidable figure dressed in military superior garb. This had to be the slave's master: he nodded down to his subordinate. The slave, line of sight lingering with his hands balled into fists, raised his arms and stepped over the beaten alien. Laying a palm flush against the wall of the pit beside him: an indicator he was ending the fight.

A fair amount of boos came from the crowd on this outcome. It mattered not: the fight was over. When the doors in the pit opened the fallen battle slave was carried out one door, the Centaurian exited the other.

The crowd divulged into chatter and a pink-skinned android girl approached Stakar pleasantly. "Sir?" She inquired. "Would you like to place a bet on the next fight in the tournament?" He saw an opportunity. "No actually, but maybe you can help me with something else." Gesturing over in the direction of the overseer, "Can you introduce me to that gentleman over there?" ~

"This is General Ahran, master overseer of our facility." the android said cheerfully upon servicing the request for an escort. "Master, this man would like to speak with you." Stakar saluted respectfully with two pumps of the fist over his heart and stated his name: "Stakar Ogord, sir. Captain of the Ravagers."

The General acknowledged the girl (which she appropriately took as an indication of dismissal) and bent his head towards the young captain. "Welcome to my outpost, Captain. I hope you are enjoying yourself, and able to stock up sufficiently on your wares?" "Oh yes sir," He said with a smile. "It's been great. Real smooth operation you run here."

Stakar was not one to waste time when it came down to business. He gestured with his head towards the pit. "So... Udonta was it, for that Centaurian." Ahran looked at the captain, his face as always unreadable. "Really knows how to win a fight."

At this the overseer smirked and turned his attention down towards the pit, two new battle slaves now prepping for the next matchup. "That he does."

Stakar waited a moment. He _had_ to know his intent behind the pointed question of interest... when Ahran said nothing Stakar went on unabashed. "So how much for him?"

Ahran glanced at Stakar, looking him up and down before turning his attention back to the ring below. "He is not for sale."

 _Playing hardball.._. The captain turned his back to the barricade and moved in to have the conversation more directly. "Come on - he's a slave, they're all for sale. How much?"

Ahran stayed silent and unreadable, his attention seemingly focused on the fight. The captain waited patiently; the hesitation intriguing. Udonta _was_ just a slave... right?

After what felt like an eternity, Ahran relented. "Four hundred." _...that can't be right._ "Four hundred units?" He asked skeptically to clarify. Ahran looked at Stakar as if he were slow in the head. " Thousand." His words were plain and definitive.

Stakar now taken aback. "Four hundred _thousand_ units?!" He couldn't be serious. Four hundred  thousand units... that was a sixth of the Ravager's reserves! More specifically: that was the _entire_ share with Stakar's name on it... he could afford it, but damn. "That's crazy."

Ahran looked smugly satisfied at the reaction; cocking an eyebrow he shrugged his shoulders. "I have already made five times that off of him - a tenth of it today. If you do not buy him I will simply make more." Ahran turned his attention from Stakar back down to the current tournament fight. After a moment, his tone now sullen, he said further:

"He is worth at least that amount."

Stakar looked at the master overseer, unable to hide his surprise. _Wow_. Overseers always try to bulk up the price - they usually go on and on about why the slave is worth the amount. This was different. Ahran either didn't want to sell him, or he was making it clear with his choice few words that he was listing the slave at what _he_ saw to be his true value; this was something Stakar had never seen before.

 _... I hope I don't get too much shit from Aleta and Martinex about this..._ After a long moment of thought, he reached out his hand to the overseer: "you've got yourself a deal."

With the help of the android girl and a tablet the transaction was made; as Stakar was led to the cages he thought about his next move. To be honest, he felt _nervous_. Things hadn't gone the way they had before...he wasn't quite sure what to expect. He knew though that he had just made a pretty significant gamble. Here's hoping he wasn't wrong about this.

After leading Stakar to a hangar where the holding cages were located and providing the instruction of which cage to go to, Ahran looked to the captain. "When you are ready: take him to the medical bay." With that the overseer left. As the captain walked down the line of empty cages, the sound of whistling echoed off the hangar walls.

* * *

Upon seeing a stranger approach his holding cage Yondu stopped whistling. The only person he might have expected to see was that awkward guard from before. He wasn't dressed like a guard, strangely enough...who was he?

"You don't have to stop on my account."

He was talking directly to Yondu. The Centaurian's eyes narrowed skeptically. He was tempted to ask the man just who he was; the stranger beat him to the punch, introducing himself. "I'm Stakar Ogord." With a smile he gestured to Yondu. "You're Yondu Udonta."

 _What's with this guy..._ Yondu thought to himself.

"I saw your last fight." Stakar continued. "It was-" he gave a pause, as if still in disbelief "pretty amazing." Leaning against the door of the cage he waved him closer. "Come on over, I want to talk to you."

Yondu was incredibly skeptical of this entire encounter. He must be yet another fan of the money gained from gambling on Yondu's fights, but...something was _off_ from that; it was just weird.

At the same time it was so, so hot and Yondu was in so much pain, he really didn't have it in him to try and question this odd conversation. Without thinking further he obliged Stakar's request, maneuvering his body along the perimeter within the cage so he could still rest his back against the bars but at the side closest to the opening. The way the hangar had the cages set up made it so that Yondu - while still sitting in his cage against the wall by its door - was essentially at eye level with Stakar, the door of the cage instilling a set of bars between them.

Stakar went on to speak. "You look like you were put through a grinder." He had thought it was bad from afar... Yondu gave a tired chuckle at his observation. "It happens."

Stakar smiled when their eyes met. Right off the bat, he got a good vibe. He wanted to get to know Yondu better. "How'd you become a slave, Yondu?"

Yondu sighed - pressing back for support as he did so - and looked off into the distance, dismissive. "Been at this all my life, mister." Stakar observed this behavior: clearly, Yondu wasn't the small talk type. _Might as well just get down to it._

"You want to get out of here?"

Yondu's attitude dissipated; his eyebrows furrowed at this out of the blue inquiry. He didn't understand. "...what."

Stakar went on: Time to put it all on the line. "I'm looking to set you free, Yondu. I want you to join me - well, me and my crew." His smile was warmer than the slave sitting in the cage in front of him was used to. "We call ourselves the Ravagers. _I_ think you would be a really good fit for our group."

Yondu's face went from confusion to annoyance. Clearly this was some sort of joke. He avoided eye contact with the stranger. "Someone put you up to this I'm guessin'?"

"What?" It was Stakar's turn to be confused; he shook his head adamantly. "No, no, that's not.{sigh}..that's not what this is at all." Yondu looked back at him with disbelieving eyes and an angry skepticism.

"Listen," Stakar pressed his forearm against the cage door as he leaned, his free hand gesturing as he talked: "Your last fight with that guy: he had close to two feet on you. The way you handled that fight was _incredible_. I had never seen anything like that before."

Yondu leaned his head back against the bars, his face still set in a scowl. He at least seemed willing to listen...

"But there was something I noticed." Stakar paused; he didn't want this to come out the wrong way. "You left yourself open intentionally. It was a real gamble, letting him come at you so you could get the upper hand. I mean, he could have hit a main artery. If he had you might have bled out - then you'd be dead."

At this Yondu shrugged, keeping Stakar's eye contact from a sideways point of view. "...maybe." Stakar couldn't help but laugh a little. "That's honest. I like that." Yondu looked down, breaking eye contact. It was unnerving, being spoken to in such a complimentary tone.

"You seem like you don't have any issues putting your life at risk - probably in any situation, not just in a fight. It was really something to see. If that fight said anything about you: it's that you _don't_ back down. Not even a little bit, regardless of what you're up against."

...Yondu couldn't bring himself to say anything... what the captain was saying was 100% true. Was he really that transparent?

Stakar shrugged and looked off for a moment. "Pretty damn reckless, but hell - my turn to be honest." He looked back to Yondu and their eyes met "It's not just because you can fight. I'm offering this to you because - dammit, I think you're fascinating," he chuckled at himself for his own candor, "and...I don't know. Maybe you want to see what else is out there. What else life can be."

Yondu's chest tightened; his heart felt like it was in a vice. All of a sudden he felt frozen in place, barely able to breathe.

"I get it if you've never thought about it," Stakar did not want to be presumptuous "-but there's more than this" he gestured at his surroundings "in life out there for you."

"All you have to do is take it." Yondu saw sincerity in the man's eyes. He really believed in what he was saying...it was infectious. Without even realizing it, Yondu felt in that moment like _he_ believed it too.

The captain could see that something was stirring in Yondu's eyes. Still, he needed him to _say_ something: money or no, if Yondu didn't come out of that cage willingly he'd be useless. Stakar asked pointedly:

" _Have_ you ever thought about it? What it might be like, to be your own person?"

Yondu felt a wall broken down in that moment. No one had ever talked like this to him before. Was this... was this for real? His defenses were shot; unconsciously he responded in truth, his throat dry and his voice hoarse. "...yeah..."

Stakar lit up at this response. "Well there you go. This is your chance - you can leave this place and be part of our group."

Yondu was processing...he repeated back: "Your group?"

"Right - the Ravagers." Stakar's face gave way to a grin. "I really think you'd be perfect for us, Yondu. I think you would like it too. We're kind of like mercenaries - but don't get me wrong. We do follow a code. So long as you adhere to the code, you're one of us. And if you're one of us: you're family."

Stakar stepped back, feeling he'd said his piece and hoped he'd made the right impression. "All you have to do is come with me."

On the opposite side of the cage the torn-up battle slave looked at the floor in front of him. So odd... he felt like he had to be dreaming when (given the amount of physical pain he was in) he knew he was awake. Cautiously he moved to the edge of his cage and leaned against the door from the inside - his arm intertwined with the bars above his head - to face the captain.

"So what you're sayin'" His voice rasped a bit. "is I can just leave - _everything-_ I know... to go with you... and be a 'Ravager'." It sounded even more unbelievable out loud.

Stakar looked at the battle slave wholesomely and shrugged, "If that's what you want. You've gotta want it, Yondu. I was counting on you wanting it, but hey: I'm not buying you. I'm setting you free. It's up to you what happens from here."

The moment could not have felt any more surreal. The man before Yondu was talking about things he had completely written off for his life: Freedom? _Family?_ Was it really possible, that right in front of him was _a way out_ \- a life beyond slavery, was it really out there for him? He felt beside himself with anxiety: what Stakar offered was a great unknown. He knew this cage, he knew this outpost... he knew fighting, and he knew killing. Being a part of something else, something that wasn't fighting for the Kree Empire? ...

Wait a minute.

If he became a Ravager, he'd no longer have to fight for the Kree Empire. His fights... would be his own.

 _His fights would finally be his to own._

An impulse surged within the battle slave; suddenly he wanted nothing more. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, to _have what was his_. He had to take it! Yondu's eyes held an unparalleled intensity; he extended his arm through the bars and offered his hand: "I'll follow your code: you have my word."

The captain looked elated; heartily he took the battle slave's hand and they shook, the bars still between them but the bond made. With a look of warmth and understanding Stakar addressed his new companion, "well then let's get you out of here."

* * *

At the medical bay the same doctor that had administered Yondu's physical assessments throughout his years of life as a battle slave looked at his tablet, then looked the alien over. "Hmm... well he's quite injured. Do you want him to have a trip to the pods before you take him?" He inquired to Stakar.

Stakar - who had been sending a message to Martinex about his status - looked up from his wrist communicator absently. "What? I don't know what that is. Ask him." He gestured to Yondu, currently sitting on the examination table same as he had done all those years before. Yondu chewed at his lip a bit when the provider turned his attention to him and shook his head. Yondu's heart was racing: in his chest an ever-present fear that at any moment this would be revealed as some sort of dream, a farce, a cruel joke. He wanted no deterrents from his path: if he was really getting out of here, it was happening **now**.

The provider sighed. "Very well... you should really let me administer _some_ care to you. You've got three fractured ribs."

"...alright..." the Centaurian conceded quietly. The provider wrapped Yondu's midsection with medical bandaging, covering his lower ribs. He moved to a nasty looking syringe full of a bright green liquid. Bracing a hand on Yondu's shoulder the alien warned: "Now this is going to hurt," and with that shoved the needle under the bandages in the direction of his lungs.

Yondu exclaimed at the sudden and severe pain that exploded in his chest. The provider explained as he put away the needle: "the serum will work through your lungs and administer a healing regimen throughout your body. I still say the pods would've been a better route, but this _will_ turn around quicker." As he spoke he had retrieved what looked like a compressed air gun. "Turn your head." The provider grasped the Centaurian's head firmly to center the device over the chip behind Yondu's ear. With the press of a trigger, the chip was removed. Yondu grunted at the action, clenching his fists but otherwise made no outward reaction. The chip itself was then slid it into a small rectangular device with a surface slick like glass, the device itself no bigger than one's palm.

"There you have it: he is no longer property of the Kree Empire. Here's his record." The provider took the device in an attempt to hand it to Stakar. Again busy with messaging on his communicator he waved the doctor away. "Oh - I'm not buying him, he's free now." He indicated with a head nod toward Yondu. "Give it to him."

The provider looked taken aback. Awkwardly he closed his hand around the device, turned back to Yondu and offered it to him: "um... here you go."

Yondu took it. _This really wasn't a dream_. This was real. He stared at the piece in his hand in a daze, shaken a bit when Stakar had clasped a hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met: "you ready to go?"

Yondu stayed close to Stakar as they walked - walking in a direction he would've never been allowed to before. He had lived at the outpost practically his entire life... he had never tried, never even _considered_ walking this way. He was walking  away from the outpost - toward the planet's docking bay for visiting ships.

Before leaving the perimeter he stopped... something in him compelled him: he had to look back. With a backward glance he surveyed the outpost, his eyes landing on the arena - from a distance, he saw Ahran. Suddenly it clicked in Yondu's mind: _Ahran had_ sold _him_. Without so much as a word or a glance between them. A strange emotion set in as he watched the overseer now, only able to see the side profile of his face; Ahran in a terse discussion at the moment with a handful of Kree soldiers. It would appear as if nothing had changed...

Yondu sighed as he watched his former master for a moment longer before turning back around.

He had been let go. There was nothing holding him back.

Stakar waited as Yondu made his final look back. Unexpectedly the battle slave's emancipation had a profound effect on him. He felt in awe of the sheer boldness of this young man; Stakar was no stranger to being scared, and it was all too clear that Yondu was terrified out of his mind... but he had said yes anyway - following him blindly through uncharted waters. As they boarded the Ravager M-ship they were greeted by Martinex. "Welcome aboard," he shook Yondu's hand heartily. ~

Stationed in the second row of seats Yondu looked out the windshield as they departed the atmosphere of the outpost planet. He felt like such a stranger in this point of view, even though everything - truly everything he saw; the arena, the massive Kree battleship, the expansive facility building - was the very definition of familiar. It grew smaller and smaller, until Yondu saw nothing other the vastness of space and was surrounded by planets, galaxies, and stars.

"Have you told Aleta yet?" Martinex quipped to his captain. Stakar tempered him with his hand. "I've been messaging her." "So no, then." "I'm working up to it!"

Yondu looked to the small black device in his hands; that chip had been imbedded in his skull for twenty years. His curiosity got the better of him - he tapped the top of the device twice and a screen presented. Yondu scrolled through the information on the screen in amazement; everything about him, _literally everything_ about him was on this chip.

His medical records. His kills count. His battles fought. His fights won. It seemed that anything worth noting about him was right here, catalogued on file; his life reduced to mere data. A creeping feeling of insignificance came over Yondu as he browsed. Was this... was this really all he was? Was his life truly that meaningless up to this point? A battle slave's life: in the palm of his hand.

He closed the screen and clasped his hand over the device, his hand now a fist. Stewing in his own poisonous thought: he clenched his fist tighter, and tighter, until - _crack -_ the glass surface of the device gave way to being broken. He opened his fist slowly, revealing the crushed pieces of the device he had held; numbly his hand turned to let it fall to the floor.

...He was embarking on a new path. It was time to let his old life go. Yondu didn't know how to be anything other than a battle slave... but dammit, he had to start somewhere.

Yondu looked over to Stakar; he was currently bantering back and forth with his first mate. He knew so little about him, but even in brevity the captain had shown he was worthy of both Yondu's respect and gratitude. More than that... Yondu felt indebted to him. From the backseat of the M-ship the former battle slave had no idea what was going to come next for him. But if Stakar was leading the way, he was willing to take a chance and find out.

END - BATTLE SLAVE ARC

* * *

A/N: To all of you that made it this far thank you so much :)


	8. Interlude

Below is the bridge between the last arc and the next. Please enjoy!

* * *

Interlude: The Ravager Code

There was nothing quite like being a space pirate. The cosmic winds at your preverbal sails, the mist of star dust like an ocean spray as you trek across endless black waters, billions of stars filling the void along with tens of thousands of worlds. It was customary to utilize jump points throughout space in order to make travel across light years faster than clicks, but the Arcturan captain of the Ravagers was the type to enjoy the scenic route if one was known, so long as not in too much of a rush. Jumps were efficient, but it was a downright shame to simply zip by all the visual wonders space had to offer. As their M-ship approached a massive supernova remnant Stakar navigated the small set of voyagers to a cruising speed, not one to pass up such a fine opportunity to take in the sights.

The shattered remnant of a massive star that ended its life in a supernova explosion lay along the path from the Kree outpost planet to the main Ravager ship; at its nucleus, a progenitor star. Steering clear of the dangerous epicenter they lulled to a drift, sailing through the outskirts of this atmospheric art. Filaments radiating with vibrant clouds of helium and hydrogen reflected light from the raging pulsar core: giving way to a beautiful aurora of pink, red, and purple with spatterings of green and yellow throughout. It was quite a sight to behold.

The magnitude of space held more wonders than a Kree battle slave that had lived out his life on an outpost could ever know. This had the potential for a gentle start in "firsts" - sightseeing in space. The quiet atmosphere of the M-ship however had given way to too much uncontrolled thought in Yondu's head. The high that came with his liberation was wearing off: he was now left with the crushing realization that he had no clue what he had gotten himself into. He was free, but what did one do with freedom, what was _he_ supposed to do? All this time he sought self-defined purpose but freedom did not necessarily deliver purpose along with it. What kind of path would he be led down, what sort of life did one live as a 'Ravager'...and the 'code'. What was this code that he had impulsively agreed to abide by?

Stakar glanced up at the glorious array of color passing over them. "Beautiful..." he breathed. The captain looked back to their newfound companion, curious of his reaction to what surely would be a new sight. To his surprise Yondu was not taking in the view: looking off at nothing in particular his face was brooding, his chin burrowed into the palm of his left hand, his posture and demeanor tense. He looked like he wanted - no, like he needed to say something.

"Hey Yondu." Not a start to anything; just bringing him back to reality. The alien's eyes met the captain's; his acknowledgement gave him what he habitually would not seek unless addressed first: permission to speak.

"So to be a Ravager-" Yondu's approach was straightforward, "I gotta follow your code. What is it - a set of rules or somethin'?"

"Not rules," Stakar was considerate in his correction but stated quite directly "it's the guidelines we Ravagers live and die by." He turned his attention from Yondu to his first mate currently maintaining the ship's cruising speed. There was a hint of playfulness in Stakar's voice: "You gonna help me out?" Martinex glanced away from the windshield with a knowing look on his face. "Don't I always?" Stakar's reply was accompanied by a smile, "yeah you do." Apparently this was not a new routine.

"So I had told you we were like mercenaries - and we are. We take jobs for a payout: it's always, always about the payout. A job we take might be dangerous; we've fought a lot of fights, even fought some wars. But our true calling, what we really specialize in-" he paused for effect "-is _taking_. That's the first part of the code: **as Ravagers we take**. " He turned to his first mate. "What do we take, Martinex?"

With the slightest hint of a smile and his eyes facing forward he obliged. "We take what we need. We take what we want. We take because it's fun." He turned to his captain: "We take from everyone."

Yondu looked from Martinex to Stakar slowly. "...so you're thieves? You steal from everybody?"

"Ah ah! Not thieves - we're Ravagers." Stakar corrected. "And yes."

Yondu was a bit taken aback by the proclamation. "That's in the code..?" "We have to make it clear what we're all about." Stakar said definitively and glanced back, "but we're classy about it."

Martinex nodded. "That's actually the second part of the code."

"...being classy?" Yondu inquired skeptically.

"Damn straight," the captain nodded. " **Ravagers have style and class**. It's all about balance; what we're doing might be shady, but that doesn't mean we are. Style and class are like rhythm - you either have it or you don't," He looked proudly at Martinex, "and the Ravagers have it."

Yondu snorted, a smile finding its way to his face as he shook his head in disbelief. _Stealing with style...that's a new one._ He was starting to let his guard down, feeling (at least momentarily) a little more relaxed in his surroundings with these new companions. "So there's no actual 'rules' in the code."

"No no, there's- " Stakar gestured with a wave of a finger "there's some pretty strict guidelines that we will not flex on." This elicited Yondu's interest. "Like what."

"Like no kids." Martinex chimed in. Stakar took the lead, "Exactly. It's all about the payout - so we'll take just about any job. But **Ravagers don't deal in kids**. We don't traffic 'em, we don't kill 'em, we don't screw 'em." He looked back to Yondu, adding on "That shit's messed up."

When Yondu looked uncomfortably and quickly away Stakar sensed he struck a nerve; he couldn't have known Yondu's past, so which nerve exactly remained a mystery. The vibe however indicated to Stakar that Yondu probably wouldn't have a problem with this part of the code. Gracefully the captain moved on from the subject as a pillar of star dust towered over the vessel currently in cruise, reflecting a most delightful turquoise hue over the ship. "What's another one Martinex?"

The crystalline first mate continued without missing a beat. " **You never betray the crew**." "That's right," Stakar reaffirmed, "we're all in this together. You _never_ sell out the crew or cheat the crew out of a payout." Martinex looked to his captain for a moment, then to Yondu. His tone solemn he added, "Betrayal depending on severity is punishable by death."

Fire red eyes met the sapphire eyes focused on him - accurately Yondu sensed Martinex was not as trusting as his captain at first pass. At the least, it'd take a while for the Pluvian to get to know Yondu for the sake of establishing trust.

Stakar was quick to break the tension: "It'd have to be pretty bad, to get to that point - but yeah."

At this Martinex addressed his captain directly in a hushed tone: " _Why do you always leave me to be the asshole_..."

His captain urged back quietly, "I wasn't, I didn't! I - _you know-_ just figured it was implied. The same goes for a mutiny, it's common knowledge crew stuff."

The Pluvian seemed unmoved by the admonishment. "Not okay, captain..."

Despite (or perhaps due to) their bantering, the trend continued of Yondu gradually feeling more comfortable in his skin in the backseat of the M-ship. He felt he was alright to speak freely and interjected.

"...so is that it?" Stakar seemed appreciative of the redirect to the original topic. "No: there's one more. **We always honor our dead**. For anyone that follows our code and wears our flames we celebrate them into the next life. Until we meet again."

Honor for the dead was not a hard concept for Yondu to grasp, though the picture in his head was akin to how the Kree had always approached it: strip the body of anything of value then cremate it in furnaces underground. He couldn't really picture how the process would go otherwise. Especially foreign was the idea of 'celebrating'... and what was all this talk about a 'next life' and meeting again, anyway? Out of curiosity Yondu probed further on the topic. "You ever done that before?"

The captain and first mate fell to a solemn silence. Martinex spoke up: "We have once." It seemed that was all he was willing to say.

With an exchange of glances Stakar sighed. "... it was my dad. Strahm Ogord." A sad smile crept over the Arcturan's face. "He and I were partners in crime my whole life. Taught me everything I know; inspired me to start the Ravagers. Said a captain should never be above his own crew, that every crew member should have what it takes to be a captain on their own, because in death we are all equal." It was understandable for Stakar to have emotion when talking about his fallen father; Yondu may not have had a point for comparison but he knew the feeling of grief that came with losing someone.

Stakar took a moment to look up at the colorful nebula above before continuing on. "Dad was a true Ravager- the code wouldn't be what it is if it wasn't for him. He always said 'life is a trial we all live through: death is the true freedom'. We were on a job, a rogue planet - frozen surface on top of ocean. The score was these precious minerals you could find in its coves. He got stuck; died before we could get to him."

Stakar sighed, his gaze drifted forward as he started to lose himself in thought. "We got a quarter mil payout from that job..." The payout seemed as noteworthy as the loss. "First Ravager funeral: sent my dad off right. We had to, otherwise he wouldn't be able to hear the Horns of Freedom. That's how we find each other, in the next life."

What Stakar spoke of was a fundamental belief in the culture of Arcturans - passed from his father's father, to his father, down to him. The captain leaned back in his chair as he continued his story, "We scattered his ashes across the stars... that way he's with us whenever we fly. When we flashed the Ogord colors over his grave..." With his hands he gestured something like a burst, like fireworks. "...it was beautiful," he breathed a sigh, returning from his reminiscence back to reality.

"Everyone who wears our flames and dies a true Ravager will get the same treatment." With that he looked back to Yondu - "even you, when you die."

Yondu sat there in silence. Such a foreign notion; literally none of what Stakar said just now could be accurately pictured in the Centaurian's head. Scattered among the stars? Horns of freedom? Flash of colors?

Had Stakar not seen Yondu that day and chose to purchase his freedom, Yondu would eventually have died a battle slave: either on the outpost or in the battlefield itself. At best, honor in his death would have been his cadaver being stripped down and incinerated, his ashes buried in a pile among others fallen with the same fate.

What happened after death... Yondu had never thought about it before. His perception of death was simply that his fight would have ended - everything just ceasing to be. Stakar was talking about something _completely_ different; was such a thing even possible? Whatever was 'you' besides your body, somehow continuing existence - the idea of an afterlife?

If Stakar believed it... did that in and of itself make it true?

There was fluttering feeling in Yondu's core, hard to describe: like something warm filling an otherwise empty place. He had never really felt like he mattered to anyone. Yet here he was: a prospective member of a group where in its very code of honor it stated that you would matter enough to be remembered and celebrated in death for the life you lived.

To be remembered; to be celebrated; to continue his existence among the stars. Being a Ravager was offering more than a slot in a band of mercenaries: it was an extension into a culture, a way of life, essentially offering something for life beyond death. Amazing... envisioning the promise held behind the Ravager code was the closest Yondu had ever been to a religious experience.

The former battle slave felt incredibly vulnerable in that moment. The gaping hole inside him begged to be filled... for whatever reason, this was doing it. His entire life he had lacked philosophy. Just follow orders and try not to get killed: when you die you die and that's it. A battle slave would never receive such a sendoff in death, but a Ravager?

He surprised himself with the realization: he _wanted_ this. Scared that his feelings were all over his face he cleared his throat and looked away from Stakar, actually looking up. Fortuitous this action was, for he could finally see: glorious streams of pink and purple star dust, sweeping over in tidal waves above his head. Between this visual wonder and the promise of his life to come, Yondu was overcome with feelings of veneration.

"What do you say, Yondu," came the voice of the ship's commander. "The code something you can adhere to?"

This was what freedom felt like... choices, opportunities...decisions. Yondu decided - he wanted to be a Ravager, he wanted more of this and whatever else freedom had in store for him; he was more than willing to follow the code. "..yeah..." came the Centaurian's slow reply, still awestruck by the magnificent show unfolding above. "I think I can manage it."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: New Threads

* * *

A Kree battle slave would be hard pressed to ever find 'quiet' on an outpost; perhaps during the midnight hours in your cage if anything, but even then the rustling of other slaves kept true silence at bay. For Yondu, the drastic changes that came with life post-slavery had him feeling somewhat out of it; life in space was _quiet_. This stood out the most upon arrival to the main Ravager ship: no weapons clanging, no overseers shouting, just the white noise of the ship itself – whirs and hums naturally generated from the craft's inner workings were the only offset from silence.

The three voyagers parted ways once the M-ship was docked underneath the massive Ravager vessel. Martinex took to unloading the M-ship of its hull while Stakar beckoned Yondu to accompany him for a trip to the ship's tailor. The services of a tailor were a must to stay true to the code; style being a key element of the Ravager persona. The tailor - an older man, hunched slightly in posture with thick-lensed spectacles - resided in a room with tall metal walls, higher in ceiling than the hallways from which Yondu and Stakar came.

Multi-colored throws, tapestries, and drapes lined the room's perimeter; lights hovering over the center of the room gave off an orange-yellow glow; the tailor himself working at a table, so occupied with his current stitching that he did not notice his captain's arrival until summoned by Stakar's voice. It was explained that Yondu was a new recruit, in need of attire befitting his crew.

"He's probably going to have to measure you." The captain turned to the young alien that had without question followed him to this destination. The former battle slave was clearly tense, his brow furrowed and his jaw set. Hoping to loosen the guy up the captain put his arm around Yondu's shoulder and pulled him close, something like an embrace from the side.

"Don't freak out on him, alright? I'll be right outside." Stakar smiled, breaking away from Yondu with a hearty pat on the back before exiting.

The Centaurian's life to date had conditioned him - if another man were to put their hands on him, it was either wholly unwelcome or entirely violent; he was thrown off by the unanticipated form of familiar contact. If Stakar had not been equated in Yondu's mind as his superior he probably would have decked him right then and there for the intrusion.

That being said the captain's warning was aptly heeded; with his face set in a scowl Yondu followed the instructions given by the aged but capable tailor. Outstretching his arms, feet shoulder width apart, the tailor applied measuring tape as needed to identify Yondu's sizing and provide him with garments accordingly. It made him uneasy to be measured but he did alright, taking the clothing he was given and changing in a curtained-off section along the wall. He was really only perturbed by the tailor's invasive work when the older man grabbed Yondu's hand without warning, pulling it close and observing his bandaged knuckles.

"Hmm..." The tailor opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of fingerless gloves, handing them to the new recruit. Yondu obliged; looking his hands over after adorning the gloves – his adherence to the code for 'style' now complete. The sound of the opened entryway caught Stakar's attention when Yondu exited the quarters of the tailor. He nodded in approval upon seeing him.

"Looking sharp." The tailor had outfitted Yondu an all-new ensemble, replacing what he already had for boots, undergarments, and pants, allocating as well a few articles he'd never worn before: a shirt with long sleeves, a belt, and the gloves. The look was completed by a slick durable jacket. Ogord faction's navy blue and finished off with a medallion, the Ravager flames.

Yondu looked away from Stakar nervously, rolling his shoulders a bit in an effort to release his tension. He was - _visibly_ \- uncomfortable. "...I'm not used to wearin' so much." It was true; this was quite the upgrade from the 'shirtless brawler' look he had always adorned as a battle slave.

Stakar held back a grin with his arms folded, finding Yondu's shifting demeanor endearing. He knew it would take a while for Yondu to get used to things – _everything_ had to be so new to him. The captain closed the gap between them, resting his hands on the Centaurian's shoulders.

"You'll be fine. You look great! Like a real Ravager." With this he smiled; Yondu, feeling awkward at the attention, tried his best to power through what could only be described as anxiety. He gave Stakar a well-intended but pretty forced half-smile, to which Stakar took notice of something that put a thought in his head.

"You know," still in close proximity he gravitated to again put his arm around the new recruit's shoulders; the goal to speak directly without confrontation. "We have a guy here that does teeth. If you want he can-" Stakar gestured at his own mouth to provide the implication, "- fix all that up?"

He was saying that Yondu could go see the ship's dentist – it wouldn't be the first time a crew member got replacements for teeth lost from fights or injuries. A lot of crew members even enhanced their cuspids electively, simply because they enjoyed that 'hardcore' look the metal in their mouth gave them.

Yondu's face was unreadable... he didn't respond. Stakar continued with the rationalization, really not trying too hard to tread lightly with his words, "I mean, he can't work miracles, but if you want: he could help you out, fill in those gaps?"

The scrutiny of his teeth tapped into a dark, subconscious emotion: it's not like he ever had great teeth, but the teeth Yondu had lost were a sore spot for him that he always tried to ignore. Stakar pointing them out stirred up feelings of shame and inadequacy, though outwardly the alien would never show it. His survival mechanisms kicking in, all other emotions were converted to a much more familiar sense of anger.

Yondu was suddenly hyperaware: Stakar was standing awfully close to him... _too_ close. He was also _touching_ him, and his face: the look on his face conveying friendliness…or was it more than that? Wheels started turning in Yondu's head – they went to the  wrong place.

Abruptly he pushed Stakar off him and gained a few feet distance between them. His face angry and his voice cold he spat out:

"Why. Am I not 'pretty' enough for you?"

His tone was snide and sarcastic. Mentally he was lamenting the impulsive extension of his hand earlier that day from behind the bars of his holding cage. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Stakar had told him: he didn't want Yondu 'just because he could fight'. Rage continued to boil within as the captain's words played back through his head: "- _I think you're fascinating._ " Of course. It all made sense now.

Stakar looked at Yondu like he was crazy. " _What_?" The Centaurian was too far gone in his train of thought to back down now: completely serious he seethed at the captain.

"If you're lookin' for a dance partner you're barkin' up the wrong goddamn tree." He gritted his teeth, hand on his sides as he turned to avoid facing Stakar. Shaking his head and cursing to himself under his breath, "I have gotta be so stupid. Shoulda known that's what you were after when you bought me."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Stakar's hands went up, seeing now what was unfolding in front of him and felt a desperate need to get ahead of it. "Yondu! Listen, that is **not** what this is about," he scoffed. "I didn't  buy you. I don't own you! I definitely am _not_ -" he shook his head, not even willing to justify Yondu's thought process by saying it aloud "-whatever you think I want, I _don't_. I was just trying to be nice!"

Yondu's posture still faced away he turned his head to Stakar. His fiery red eyes emblazoned with the anger that had brewed and not yet been quelled; he remained silent as he glared at the captain.

Stakar gave way to an exasperated sigh. "Look, what do you want? Do you not want to be here? You don't _have_ to, Yondu, remember you are _free now_. I meant what I said; I don't want anything from you like that." He went on, his tone serious. "Do I have to prove it to you? Just say the word and I'll take you to the nearest planet and drop you off. You can even keep the getup– minus the flames."

The Centaurian's gaze was like cold steel meeting the captain's eyes; eyes that held the same level of sincerity that he had seen when still in a cage. He could tell Stakar meant what he said.

Yondu's insides twisted as the realization set in: he had backed himself into a corner. The thought of being dropped off on some nearby planet _terrified_ Yondu. He already had no idea what he was doing _here_ , where everything was new and unknown, but at least here he had taken solace – well, up to this point - in the fact that Stakar was his guide, that he had given him a path to follow. Now regretting his defensive outburst; he had ostracized himself from the one person he had anchored to. What was he going to do _now_ \- being a Ravager was the only thing he had planned. Without that... he had nothing.

As the churning emotions rose up from his core his eyes began to sting; filled now with frustration and fear his throat closed up, his pride beckoned he look away as his eyes threatened to expose his weakness. He sighed, looking up and to the side as he tried to keep composed. What the hell did Stakar even see in him, why did he think this was going to work out?!

In a voice barely more than a whisper, so quiet that Stakar couldn't tell if it was even directed at him, Yondu muttered, "I don't know what I'm doin' here..."

The admission brought just how Yondu was feeling to Stakar's attention. He looked over the former battle slave with compassion.

"Look," he said finally, giving ample space between the two to avoid any further misconceptions. "I don't want you to feel for a second that you have to be here. You're not a slave anymore: if you want you can go." Yondu looked down, still faced to the side, his jaw set in obvious tension. "But if you're willing to still give this a shot," red eyes looked up to meet Stakar's, "-maybe just stick around for a while. If you decide later you want to leave you can always leave. There's nothing in the code about 'til death do us part'." Stakar smiled at his own humor, "How about it - at least for now?"

Yondu's face grew hot as his gaze was redirected down. Stakar was giving him an 'out' from his outburst; while he did appreciate it he didn't feel any less embarrassed. His voice still so quiet he relented. "...yeah I guess."

The captain was pleased with himself for being able to turn things around, and with Yondu: so much had to be going on within him, he was honestly doing really great for someone experiencing freedom for the first day in their life. With a bit more encouragement Yondu was finally convinced to let the dentist go to work on him, filling the gaps in Yondu's mouth with some slick looking metal incisors. One tooth in particular on the upper right was incredibly sharp: Yondu did his best not to mess around with it but it sure was satisfying to _feel_ something against it.

* * *

Never in his life had Yondu seen a ship like this: Stakar enjoyed telling Yondu about the craft as they navigated through it, warning Yondu to watch his head as they passed the lower hanging rafters to get to the third deck, the main hub of life for the captain and his crew.

The layout of the ship required crew members to climb steep ladders and tolerate close spaces, but the vessel was in reality more than spacious; the captain took pride in his management ability that ensured flow of resources all around left no one longing for anything as they occupy their station in space.

The crew would be found convened in the recreation quarters: populated with tables and a bar, things would be pretty rowdy already by the time the two got there. They were about to navigate past the kitchen area when an android burst from the door to the side unexpectedly; for eyes, two emerald discs of light.

"Hey!" Came an exasperated female voice with processed undertones. Yondu was surprised and agilely stepped back; Stakar was not so surprised. "Mainframe!" he greeted.

The android motioned to the captain, "Come quick! In the kitchen!" With that she disappeared back through the set of swinging doors towards the scullery. Stakar looked over to meet Yondu's wild eyes and winced, "We should check that out." Through the doors they went, Mainframe at another set of doors across the way; those doors had not yet been opened.

Yondu had never seen a sentient android that looked like Mainframe before. She was not made to look human at all - the sides of her head included protruding sprockets that connected to the back of her robotic skull; she had no mouth but instead an imbedded microphone section. The modest silhouette that made up her slick chrome body was a clear indication she was feminine; not to mention her voice was a dead giveaway. "Through here!" she motioned with a pleading tone.

With a deep inhale that was exhaled through his nose, Stakar gave Yondu the order "Let's go."

Yondu appreciated the direction given. Following orders felt familiar; a part of him desperately needed some of that familiarity. He followed behind the headstrong captain who, without hesitation, pressed his hand to the keypad to enable the door. It slid open and shut behind them upon entry.

The kitchen extension revealed a catastrophic scene: the air was buzzing with a swarm of what appeared to be insects at first glance. Yondu caught one in his hand when it flew close to his face. It actually looked like a little person: a black-bodied and winged sprite - an angry little thing judging by the way it bit Yondu's thumb to prompt his release.

Mainframe was crouched with her hands trying to cover her head, "He was summoning from other dimensions again!" Stakar had to bat the little flying menaces away from his face. " **Dammit, Krugarr**!" The captain had a feeling that humanoid reptilian sorcerer was behind this. A set of doors parallel to the ones the three had just came from opened; through the thicket of buzzing Yondu saw a tall, broad-shouldered man in a tan jumpsuit with coffee colored skin: it wasn't quite clear what he was holding, but it looked like a flamethrower.

" ** _HIT THE DECK_**!" He bellowed in a deep voice. Yondu and Stakar instinctively dropped to the floor along with Mainframe just as a stream of fire erupted and filled the air. Panning left and right the flames filled the room; after a few moments the newcomer had successfully incinerated every last pixie in the swarm, leaving nothing but ash and a good deal of smoke in its aftermath.

As the literal dust settled Mainframe arose, acknowledging with gratitude the flame-wielding Ravager. "Thanks Charlie-27."

Stakar was next to get up, coughing as he waved away the smoke from his face. "Where's that red bastard, I'm gonna kill him."

The sound of fans kicking on filled the air: smoke slowly clearing out of the room, a crimson scaled humanoid was revealed at the switches. Stakar grimaced and pointed a finger at him from across the room. " **What the hell was that**?!"

The humanoid rolled his eyes and waved his hands in front of him. Per his signature, Krugarr utilized magic - energy drawn from other dimensions to cast spells and shape reality – with the wave of his hands to show a symbol that looked like a plus sign: an indication of medicine (not that Yondu would have known this, or anything really about whatever the hell was going on here).

"Healing? Really?" Stakar gave him an unimpressed look. "You're ridiculous. Just look at this mess!"

The towering fellow with the flame thrower pawed at a pile of ash on the table from the fallen swarm. "Maybe you can still use what's left," he said in his slow, deep voice. Krugarr shook his head and waved his hands again: this time flashing what looked like a face with X's over the eyes.

"What the…" Yondu muttered to himself, not sure what to make of all the pandemonium. Stakar looked to him, thinking this all must seem pretty batshit crazy. He groaned and clasped the Centaurian's shoulder, "Well: there's no time like the present. Let's get you introduced."

He started with the android to their left and circled the room. "This is Mainframe, Charlie-27, and Krugarr." He shook his head at the mention of the sorcerer, glaring at him for a moment before choosing to let this go so as not to sour Yondu's arrival. "The original Ravagers - believe it or not I'd trust these guys with my life. Guys: this is Yondu."

Mainframe gave a wave and cocked her head to the side, "Nice to meet you!" She had such a cute voice…

Charlie-27 respectfully performed the Ravager salute. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Yondu looked to Krugarr: with a wave of his hands he flashed a panel of gold, within it played an animation of a wave (which seemed a bit redundant but was at least pleasant and introductory in nature).

"Where's Aleta?" inquired the Ravager captain.

"Helping Martinex," came a voice from the open doorway behind Charlie-27. In she walked: a sleek, dark-haired woman dressed in what looked like a black jumpsuit. She was eating a ropelike string of candy that had a slight red glow; the aforementioned first mate was not far behind her, carrying an armload of supplies intended for the kitchen.

Aleta made her way across the room to Stakar, acknowledging Yondu as she walked by him. "Hey there 'half a mil'," she said with a sly smile, shooting a look to Stakar that included a wink. He tsk'ed as he reached out to pull her close, "Shut up," his tone endearing. He pulled her in for a kiss.

Yondu wasn't sure what Aleta meant. "Say what now?" he spoke before he thought. Aleta looked over at Yondu intrigued, then back to Stakar with her arms still around his neck. 'You didn't tell him."

Ooh, Yondu did not like the way that sounded. "Tell me what." His voice was to the point: he wanted to know what the hell she was talking about. She was happy to oblige, a sly tone to her voice.

"That Stakar spent his entire share on you." This earned a laugh from Charlie-27; in a playful jest at Stakar's expense he spoke out, " _Hahaha_ … hey man, you can borrow some money from me if you need."

The Centaurian couldn't believe what he was hearing; he looked to Stakar. The captain dismissing gently his astonishment: "They're over-exaggerating. It wasn't half a mil."

"It was pretty close," Martinex threw in. Krugarr flashed the air in front of himself with another mosaic made from streams of gold: _400,000_.

Absolutely floored, Yondu berated himself: he'd gone this whole time not even thinking about the monetary price that had to have been associated with his purchased freedom… but never in a million years would he have thought he cost _four hundred thousand units_. What sense did that even... and, _why_? Why would Stakar spend  all his money to set him free?

His mind went back to earlier. _Goddammit…_ After getting outfitted by the tailor, Yondu had essentially accused the captain of being some kind of pervert, purchasing Yondu to be his 'boy-toy'. Knowing what he knew now he felt even more like an asshole... but it was even _more_ confusing now, why someone would _ever_ do what Stakar had done.

The revelation in the room left him feeling extremely vulnerable. He wondered if the rest of the crew was aware of this detail, and how they would treat him because of it…

"Don't worry," Mainframe's voice was reassuring, as if reading his mind. "We're the only ones that know how much Stakar spent on you. Aleta's not going to say stuff like that anymore, are you Aleta?" she urged the question with a chiding tone.

Aleta cocked an eyebrow and shrugged, "Of course not," she said silkily. With that she separated from Stakar and extended her salute, followed by a bow of the head. "You are welcome here, Yondu."

"Alright guys, alright," Stakar waved his companions in a gesture away. "We gotta introduce Yondu to the rest of the crew! Let's get going." "Aye aye captain," the group chorused and saluted, making their way out.

Yondu lingered behind as even Stakar started for the door, still dealing with a well of emotions. "Stakar." He couldn't help himself; he had to ask.

"Yeah Yondu?"

The Centaurian was slow with his question but his ask was deliberate. "...Why'd you pay that much for me."

The captain looked back with something of a smirk and shrugged. "That general, what was his name… Ahran!

He made it clear you were worth it."

Yondu – was – speechless. He didn't know what to expect for an answer, but he did not expect the answer he got. Stakar's words pulled at the heart strings that lingered inside Yondu, the ones that had tethered the slave to his master. He felt a rush of so many things: reverence, sadness, gratitude… this revelation had effectively overwhelmed him with sentiment.

His eyes fighting back tears, all he could do was stand there. With consideration Stakar extended an open hand and graciously moved beyond any acknowledgement of the alien's momentary lapse of keeping up his hardened exterior.

"Come on. The crew's waiting," Yondu's chest could have burst with the amount of emotion he was trying to keep down. He nodded quickly to acknowledge his superior and exhaled a deep breath, following Stakar towards the commons where they would find the rest of the crew. From the inter-joined rooms of the kitchen Yondu was led into an area so loud and rambunctious, he could hear it three hallways away. The commander acknowledged his ranks upon entry.

"LISTEN UP!" Stakar's commanding voice boomed; slowly the room quieted. Yondu observed the boisterous crew of men, some of them mid-drink, all of them decorated in navy blue garb and sporting the Ravager flames.

It was a large enough room but it was _crowded_ – a good twenty people deep. Yondu felt sweat start to trickle down the back of his neck; he was nervous, surrounded by all (with the exception of a few) new people, eyes on him and the captain standing next to him.

Stakar – seeming to have forgotten about the distance he was so sure to apply earlier – clasped both hands on the sides of the inductee. "We've got a new recruit joining the ranks, everybody: Yondu Udonta!"

There's no doubt that their enthusiastic cheers at Stakar's announcement were due (at least in part) to the large quantities of alcohol that the room had consumed. Still, the merry greeting from everyone sent a chill up Yondu's spine.

Stakar went on to address his crew: " **Ravagers**! What do you say we bring Yondu on right?"

The response was a resounding set of cheers, whoops, and hollers. Aleta stepped up on the rafter behind them gracefully, standing over the heads in front of her to speak to the crowd, revving them up further. " ** _And what do_** ** _Ravagers do to bring someone into the fold_**?"

Without hesitation the crowd gave a most fervent reply: " ** _STEAL SOME SHIT_**!"

Stakar's voice boomed in interjection. " **Well let's do it**!"

At this they further divulged into madness, cheering and banging on the table, clanging metallic mugs together; the crew of Ravagers were downright wild. In the strangest way though, it was kind of refreshing - the room was filled with an aura of merriment and brotherhood.

This group was crazy, without a shadow of a doubt, but they had welcomed Yondu with open arms...

The new recruit's anxiety blended with a growing sense of excitement within him. His rite of passage to becoming a Ravager was on the horizon.


	10. Chapter 9

[A/N: Hi! Some folks let me know, the 'Interlude' entry throwing off chapter count made it to where they accidentally skipped over Chapter 8. Please go back if this applies to you! These are all one-shot written with continuity so no travesty if you missed it, but it IS meant to precede this chapter. That said, carry on :)]

Chapter 9: Space Cowboy

* * *

Noise.

Capitol city on Cygnus-X1 was dominated by the life of its own noise.

Horns blaring, low rumblings of transport buses, the high frequency whines of vehicles rushing along highways; the telltale signs of a busy city's existence were the brassy inner workings that blended all activity together into a myriad of sound.

The city's main attraction, the Cygnus Interplanetary Express Station, was even more inundated with commotion: squealing brakes, chugging gears, shouts from conductors. The station itself encompassed by city from the north and an industrial strip of construction aimed at the station's expansion to the south - tumultuous with sound all its own. The noise exposure was enough to cause any out-of-towner not used to the city life to be on edge, have increased stress.

Not Yondu; if the new surroundings had given him cause for nerves they were banished away by his relentless determination. He had been provisioned a few things while still on the main Ravager vessel: most noteworthy, a ship to pilot – a smaller two-person model than the one that had been used to retrieve him – and a set of orders.

The captain held no reservations with the former battle slave's inherent abilities to take on a job, but given he still didn't _know_ Yondu there was no guarantee he would follow through. The assignment was risky.

Stakar had nothing to worry about: when it came to following orders, Yondu was in a league of his own. He had committed everything the captain told him to memory and - like the military machine he was - carried out his orders with flawless execution.

Per the coordinates provided the M-ship was cloaked and parked near the fence of the industrial strip surrounding the station.

He walked, as if he too were a seamless part of the city's concrete jungle, along the fence line and in through the station.

The boarding pass he was provisioned earned him the expected nod from the conductor for the currently boarding train. Yondu noted the numbers on the side of the train as he walked with the rest of the crowd: 7897. This was the right one.

Through the locomotive he maneuvered down the aisles; there were five passengers cars bookended at the rear by an observation car, a standing-room only spot walled with windows. His face expressionless all the while, he passed the other passengers and train detail. A voice came over an intercom and could be heard throughout:

" ** _Welcome to the Cygnus Interplanetary Express. If traveling, please note that the baggage cars are located behind the engine at the front of the train._**

 ** _If you are with us for sightseeing – especially first-timers - we encourage you to follow along with the brochures in the seatback in front of you as we make our stops._**

 ** _As always thank you for choosing Cygnus Railways. Enjoy the ride~!_** "

 _Just stay put until the train breaches. Head to the back of the train, the very last car. Put up a barrier and keep the door open. We'll be there any minute._

Stakar's words became his own in Yondu's head as he ran it through over and over again.

He peered into his jacket at the dormant spacesuit affixed to the breast of his shirt before redirecting his gaze out the observation car window. The train starts off slow with its chugging along; gradually it becomes fast, faster and faster until - ** _shunk_** \- the entire train derailed from the tracks on the ground and began its ascent.

Leaning against the back wall, Yondu alternated looking from the passengers in front of him - they were all talking and laughing off the nerves that came with the separation - to looking out the window himself; he was careful not to get too distracted by the interesting new experience and this fascinating sprawl of city, covering every square foot that could be seen around them.

Within a matter of minutes the sky turned black: the express train set well on its course into outer space. Yondu took advantage of the attention drawn to the planet's now-clearly visible trail of moons and slipped through the back door unnoticed.

 _Get to the rear car, enable the barrier, open the back door._

Deliberately he pressed to activate his spacesuit after retrieving his (up until now, concealed) Ravager medallion; he stepped beyond the barrier created with the press of a key card to a panel and opened the back door.

He had done a great job staying focused up to this point, but the sudden jolt from cosmic winds whipping past the open doorway made his heart lurch forward along with the rest of his body. He braced himself on the vestibule between the railing and the door for fear of being flung off the train into space.

As terrifying as it was, he couldn't help but be awestruck as he stood on the back of the train car, a hand now gripped on the railing with a force backed by fright-filled adrenaline. From where he stood space was a vast canvas: black, painted with speckles of stars, a series of gloriously colored moons, and – two approaching Ravager ships. Sure enough, they were right on schedule with the charted course of the train.

The two mid-size crafts flew alongside the ship; with Yondu standing at the entryway and the back of the car clear, grappling lines ejected from the lower decks of the ships, securing the vessels in flight to the train car.

Everything was going according to plan.

 ** _Zip – zip – zip - zip -_** one by one, spacesuit-wearing Ravagers boarded the train and made their way through the open door into the rear car. The zip lines remained attached as the M-ship pilots stayed in flight, noses pointed towards the express train's engine.

Stakar was the last to zip down. He smiled at the new recruit (whose eyes were looking a bit wild) and gave a tap of encouragement as he walked past him through the doorway. "Alright! I knew you could do it." He motioned him to follow. "Come on. You're shadowing me."

Yondu gave a quick nod, grateful to be off the rear of the train. Spacesuits disabled and weapons drawn, they walked through to the front; Stakar turned to face the new recruit as they convened at the door.

"Okay Yondu: so far so good, but this being your first raid I'm expecting quite a bit from you." He looked Yondu in the eye and held there: "If you're going to be a Ravager you gotta do what – think of the first part of the code…" Like any good mentor, the Ravager captain took the time to see if his pupil had been paying attention.

Yondu thought about it for a moment. "...I gotta take somethin'?"

Stakar heartily rapped the Centaurian's arm, clearly pleased. "Kid is smart!" He whipped out his other blaster, his face brimming with excitement as he was about to indulge in his favorite activity: "Just follow my lead."

With that he gave a nod to the crew member currently affixing a detonator to the control panel: the same one Yondu had just operated to allow entry from the rear of the car. A slow series of beeps, followed by

 **BOOM!** The panel's explosion resulted in a chain reaction: each and every door connecting the passenger cars and the observation car on the train were sent wide open.

The other Ravagers were all too familiar with this routine. Weapons ready they followed Stakar's lead as the captain made his entrance to the observation car dramatically, shooting his blasters in the air to add to the effect.

 ** _Blast blast blast_** "Ladies and gentlemen!" Passengers ducked down to avoid being shot; women gasping and children crying were heard among the worried murmurs.

"We're going to need to take all and any of your valuable belongings. We don't want to take your lives-" he pointed a gun at the face of the interplanetary transit authority – IPTA emblazoned on his uniform – that was reaching for his weapon "-but we will, if we have to." Stakar motioned for the officer to give him his gun, to which the transit authority obliged.

Ravagers dispersed themselves evenly throughout the cars, weapons drawn as they engaged in the most favored pastime of commandeering. Stakar turned to Yondu and said over his shoulder, "Let's make our way to the front."

Nearly flying out the back of the train and all the commotion up to this point had Yondu on edge: he was grateful to have orders to follow. His focus on adherence he strode forward and was making his way through the rearmost passenger car; his steps led to a distraction in the form of a squeaking sound that accompanied a knot under his foot.

He looked underneath his boot: a rubber toy. He bent down to pick it up and observed the squeaky oddity. Green with white spots; four legs; a long neck looping around its body - but its face: big off-centered eyes and a stupid smile with oversized teeth.

It was so damn goofy looking. Yondu couldn't help but laugh to himself; unprecedented, this silliness. What a funny, weird little thing.

The Ravager recruit looked over to the seat from whence it came: an alien mother and child, the child clearly having dropped the toy. The mother clutched the child to her chest as it cried in absence of their plaything; she was quick to distance herself from Yondu (an apparent threat) in huddling over by the window. Yondu felt awkward standing there, holding the toy. He couldn't exactly give it back... should he just put it back down on the floor?

The sound of a whistle carried down the train car; Yondu broke focus from this distraction to see Stakar motioning him to follow with a nod. Looking back at the mother and child one last time, he quickly shoved the toy into his pocket and escalated his pace to catch up with his captain.

They worked their way up through the passenger cars; Ravagers that had gone ahead were merrily raiding the occupants of their belongings. Any IPTA officers on board were quickly subdued, held at gun point and handcuffed with their own restraints, ones intended for any troublemakers onboard.

They passed through the passenger cars; they passed through the baggage car. Yondu felt perplexed when they arrived at the car between the baggage car and the engine; its door was curiously shut.

"What's goin' on-" his breathing was fast, his look to Stakar accurately conveying his confusion at the closed-off entryway. He stood opposite side of the door, both their backs against the wall with weapons drawn.

"Hang on," The captain was looking at his wrist communicator. "Any minute now this door's gonna open. We couldn't control it from the rear panel but I've got someone on the inside." His eyes flicked up to meet Yondu's fire red. "This is the _real_ score, Yondu. Just give it another minute."

Within but a moment of Stakar saying this the door opened; Yondu stepped back alongside the wall of the car with his weapon drawn, ready to shoot whoever (or whatever) came through. He thought Stakar crazy when he simply looked in and entered, motioning Yondu to follow him.

In the center of the car on the floor: stacks upon stacks of bars, gold colored in nature. The bars themselves seemed wrapped in a protective type of plastic and anchored onto a metal palette.

Near the opposite side of the car in front of the hull was a stunning woman: wearing the same outfit as the officials subdued, her heels high increasing her already formidable stature. Her being bent over upon arrival was not an unpleasant sight to see.

" _Ah_ -there we go." She had been applying quite some force to a lever down on the floor; upon her final press the car began to shake violently.

Her actions resulted in the car being unhinged from the paneling on the floor that had anchored the car to the vestibule; no longer adhered to the frame the car ricocheted in its destabilization, the framework being the only thing keeping it from floating off into space.

The stranger whipped her hair - long, curly, dark red in color - as she stood and turned around to face Stakar.

"Right on time, Mr. Ogord. As always. Them passes work out alright?"

She had a twang of an accent; it sort of reminded Yondu of his own. Her mess of hair tucked under an IPTA official's hat, with a gorgeous smile and bright blue eyes; right away the Centaurian was enamored by the mysterious beauty.

"Oh, you know it darlin'." Stakar threw a little bit of her accent right back at her, turning on his signature charm.

With a click of the tongue she bated the captain. "Now you stop flirtin' with me, Stakar. I know you got'cher girl back home - she'd prob'ly kill me for messin' around with you!"

The bombshell took notice of the captain's companion. Her eyes gave Yondu a sultry look up and down. "And who is this?"

"New recruit." Stakar responded in turn, shooting Yondu an encouraging look.

The woman held her posture incredibly well given the thunderous vibrations the train car was now exposed to."Oooh I like him. Such a cutie~"

The shaking required Yondu to allocate a fair amount of focus to staying on balance, his weapon still clutched in his hands: not one to disregard a compliment, he reciprocated the attention with a wink that earned him a smile.

"Now you be sure to wire my share once it's all sorted out. Y'all gonna haveta hurry, too: delay on the distress signal is only good for five minutes."

"You got it, Rexine." Stakar took to his wrist communicator and spoke into it: "Let's roll out." He flipped through the communicator's screen before saying aloud, "Martinex is in recon for the drop."

Rexine gave an amused giggle, it almost sounded meshed with a moan; the sultry vixen clearly enjoyed her role in this escapade. "Hang on to somethin'."

Behind her was a switch; she braced herself and slammed a button, causing the panels in the center on the floor to give away, a barrier taking its place.

Stakar pushed himself back, anchoring himself against the side wall; Yondu mirrored his captain's actions on the opposite side. Bent at the hip, Rexine eased the loot-filled palette downward, down through the gap now present on the floor. "Bye bye~!" she said as it went through the barrier.

It drifted loftily in space for a moment before a grappling hook latched to it from below; Martinex at the helm, the M-ship reeled in the loot for a clean, albeit kinetic, getaway.

Everything so far had gone just as expected – if the trend were to continue the Ravagers throughout the train were well on their way off the ship via the zip lines, re-boarding the crafts dedicated to reconnaissance.

Yondu had been mentally preparing for this moment: for him and Stakar, their exit would require jumping from the fast-moving train.

Stakar turned to Yondu. "You got this, right?"

"...yeah." His voice wasn't exactly convincing.

The captain further downplayed the event with a shrug. "You got this far, right?"

"…Yeah." His tone tried to compensate in confidence where his facial expression was still lacking.

With a finger point gesture to the recruit that resembled the shoot of a gun, Stakar smoothly used his alternate hand to tap the button that enabled his spacesuit. "Let's do this."

He turned to their female counterpart. "Bye Rex" were his only words before dropping down through the gap in the floor the haul left in its wake.

Yondu's respiratory rate increased as he holstered his blaster and enabled his spacesuit. Time was of the essence; he looked one last time to Rexine, still on the farther side of the train car, watching him with a flirtatious amusement.

With a wink and a blow of a kiss she bid him farewell. "See ya later."

Out he jumped.

Exacerbated by the express train's course diverting upward in a curve to the left, Yondu felt as if he were in a sudden free fall. No – it was more of a sinking motion he felt, sinking down into an endless place until his propulsion left him resting in a float, surrounded by nothing but darkness and stars.

He looked up, all around: his eyes beheld the wonders of the Cygnus-X1 solar system; the asteroid belt surrounding Cygnus-X1; and its five respective moons – colored in green, yellow, orange, purple, and blue.

Startled he was out of the surreal moment by Stakar's firm grasp to Yondu's right arm at the bicep. The captain and recruit made eye contact and an order was given: "Don't let go."

As hard as he tried to retain his grip, Yondu still felt like he was about to be sucked out into the vacuum of space as Stakar shot his grappling gun and sent them flying; he had effectively locked onto the rear of an express train overhead, on its way back to the station: the numbers 340 emblazoned on its side.

It was perfectly timed: the 340 entered Cygnus-X1's atmosphere just as the pair secured a hold on the rear car's railing. Before the express could return to the tracks the Ravagers de-boarded themselves, right over the industrial strip that Yondu had landed in to start. Not the most graceful landing, but at least nothing was broken.

Stakar couldn't help but laugh to himself, adrenaline still running hot, as he dusted off his jacket. " _Hahahaha_ … **Woo**!" He whooped, looking over at his Ravager companion: Yondu was taking a knee, still trying to catch his breath. Looking up to Stakar he allowed himself to return the faintest hint of a smile.

He had done it. He had frickin' done it! His first job, his first raid as a Ravager... It. Was. _Incredible!_

The final act of the plan – retrieving the original ship, was now underway. As Yondu lifted himself into the pilot seat he felt a lump in the pocket of his jacket. He had forgotten all about this!

He pulled out the silly little toy from his pocket and observed it with a feeling of marvel; this little guy had gone through _all_ of that with him. Like a little partner in crime. His eyes darted to the console of the M-ship: there was a decent amount of flat space. As if it were naturally meant to be there he placed the toy on the console near the middle of the windshield.

Stakar was pulling himself up into the co-pilot seat right as Yondu placed it down. "Nice." He said with an encouraging tone, smiling over at Yondu. "Now it's really your ship."

Yondu was taken aback. His _what_ now?  His ship?! "...I get the ship?" He repeated back, quiet in his awe.

Stakar acted like it was a matter of fact. "You're part of my crew you've gotta have a ship. Besides," he rationalized, "you've earned it."

Before Yondu could say anything Stakar broke the tension with a bump of the fist to Yondu's shoulder.

The captain had a sincere desire to welcome Yondu the 'right way': giving him a role in the heist, Yondu getting his own ship, these were all just part of the package in the captain's eyes for what it meant to be a Ravager. The fact that there were deeper connotations to it all, given Yondu had never before been free... it just couldn't be helped. Stakar wanted more than anything not to make a big deal about it.

"Come on." He plugged in the coordinates for the primary vessel into the console of the M-ship. "Let's go home."

Yondu sat there, humbled into inactivity, as the engine roared – this lasted only a moment. "Yessir," he affirmed, gratitude evident in his voice; still on quite the high Yondu navigated the M-Ship per the charted course off the planet. Headed back to the place that – as of today – he got to call 'home'.

* * *

A/N pt2: Bits of this chapter were inspired by some good space-centric anime. Worth reiterating that I own nothing ;) also thank you so much for your reviews - I am humbled by your compliments! ~


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Restraint

* * *

Yondu set his gaze toward the sky after his boots hit the snow-covered ground; once again he'd ridden with Stakar and Martinex in the M-ship, to a new planet where dusk had already fallen. It was snowing... pristine flakes danced down from the sky, falling gently all around; reflecting the faint glow of neon. They had landed on Contraxia.

Contraxia was a known hub across the galaxy for nefarious activity; one of the best places for selling off what had been gained in the raid (and for squandering the units their hull would procure). The planet was cold, stationed third in its solar system, with swirls of precipitation that left it often-covered in snow.

Upon arrival the Ravager crew members dispersed; offloading the train robbery's loot, drinking to their heart's content, and (for the large majority) rounding out the night in a room at one of the planet's many bordellos. There were so many, the place was one big red-light district; one could spend a lifetime there and still wouldn't be able to frequent them all.

Moon River was tonight's club of choice: Stakar _insisted_ Yondu join him for a drink.

The recruit was proving slow with grabbing freedom by the reins; the captain didn't mind. Liberation and deinstitutionalization were life-changing events that took time - eventually they would lead to loyalty. Besides: a beer shared among comrades was exactly the type of thing he'd do anyway. What better way to end the day?

Posted up at the end of the half-circle bar, the captain engaged the recruit in drinks and conversation. Stakar's voice undoubtedly the more dominant of the two; he was quick to rave about the heist of the day, jovially recanting the event that – for Yondu, was transformative – but for a Ravager was the 'any given day'. On the outside Yondu played it cool: leaning back in his seat with one of the little stirring straws satisfyingly lodged between metallic teeth. Allowing the occasional smile or laugh, dismissing any acknowledgment from his captain's boasts at how well the new recruit had done.

What a whirlwind of a day it had been for Yondu; this morning he had woke up in a cage. It was still hard to process just how he had ended up here... The former battle slave was doing his best to just be 'normal' in this moment, but there was a _strong_ wave of anxiety lapping at his shores. Stakar (not to mention everything else) seemed so unreal; as hard as he tried to keep his internal distance and stay guarded, Yondu couldn't help being drawn in by the captain's charisma.

Captain of space pirates. Liberator of slaves; with a strong code of honor and an even stronger personality. On top of everything else the Ravager captain had gone even further, providing Yondu with yet another thing he'd never had before – companionship.

For the most part he just listened, Stakar's boisterous personality filling their conversation with life as he regaled through everything from stories of previous heists to the plans he had for the future. The captain revealed to Yondu his big dream: he wanted to further expand the Ravagers. To see his crew members become captains in their own right, start their own factions; spreading the Ravager gaining power across the galaxy a hundred fold.

"Charlie-27's the closest to being ready," he tallied off his fingers as he listed his friend's names, "Then Aleta's up next, and Krugarr, and Mainframe - if she wants it." Stakar finished with a shrug.

Yondu took a long drink from his glass of amber colored liquid. "...what about Martinex?" He posed an honest inquiry. "He gonna be captain too?"

Stakar looked down at the bar and chuckled a bit - as if not sure what to say. "Well... he's my first mate."

"-Just admit it." The Pluvian interjected upon the two, unexpectedly having approached from behind. "You would fall apart without me."

Stakar turned back in greeting with a grin. "He's not wrong." His focus back to the recruit, he gestured with a finger and stressed a point: "Number one rule of being a good captain – have an even better first mate. Someone you know is loyal to you."

Martinex and Yondu met eyes for a second. There was an exchange of looks but it was passive. The first mate did not linger in their presence long; he would thereafter exit the scene, but not before resting his crystalline hand on the captain's shoulder, leaning in to say discreetly, "It's ready."

The captain finished off the last of his drink, then with an air of necessity turned his attention to his wrist communicator.

This wasn't the first time his communicator had proved a distraction during their commiserating; it was actually more like the fourth or fifth. Yondu would not have thought much of it, if not for the fact that everyone he figured the captain might be messaging (Aleta, Martinex) was already there, dispersed throughout the club and mingling among the respective cliques across the faction. The captain took notice of the attention to his own behavior after closing his communicator and looking over, his eyes meeting the recruit's. Stakar left the air between them quiet for a moment, as if pondering whether or not he would fill Yondu in on what was preoccupying him.

"So." His voice was quiet when he finally came ready to speak. "The score from earlier, on the train: I've got a meeting set up with a buyer. Typically I keep stuff like this close to the vest; I only asked Martinex to come with me. But the guy I'm dealing with, he's got a reputation for being the 'untrustworthy' type. I could use some extra muscle." He flagged down the bartender for another round before continuing to speak, turning to face the recruit when the air between was once again private.

"I know if I told you to come with me you would, but I want to _ask_ you: you can tell me 'no'."

Yondu looked perplexed; he would have honestly preferred to just receive the order. Why would he tell Stakar 'no'? He felt embarrassed as his thoughts made clear his feelings; after everything that had happened today, what Yondu felt towards the captain amounted to nothing short of adoration... he respected him, he felt indebted to him... the ask seemed nonsensical – of _course_ he'd say yes. He struggled to find his words – his response started off with a scoff.

"Yeah, sure." He avoided eye contact as he leaned, taking a sip of his newly delivered drink. "You need me there I'll go." He crossed his arms, feeling vulnerable in his statement... he hoped he had not made things as awkward as they now felt.

The atmosphere felt so quiet between them now: a stark difference from the rabble rousing all around. After a moment of pause the captain finally spoke up. "...Alright. Finish your drink, let's get out of here."

* * *

Where Yondu would find himself next was a stark difference from the vibrancy of Moon River; after rendezvousing with Martinex they navigated to a neon-lit alley and entered the back of a dingy, nameless building. Its entryway had a greeter that led them down a hallway to a room. The room could be profiled as the type whose sole purpose was servicing the criminal community and its immoral dealings. A singular light dangled overhead a table with a set of chairs – the only provided furniture.

Two men were already in the room; the smaller man of the two had a smarmy look about him. Black slicked-back hair, thin moustache – a guarded look in his eyes. Yondu would soon learn he went by Kereshi; his associate – the larger one – he called Jorah. After some level of pleasantries, Kereshi and Stakar sat down at the table. Martinex was not far from Stakar, standing off to his right side (almost in a face-off with Kereshi's third associate). Yondu stayed close as well but hugged the wall; Jorah not far off from him, standing alongside the wall just a few feet away.

Martinex retrieved an item from within his jacket and set it down on the table upon Stakar's request: it was one of the gold bars from the heist, individually wrapped in its protective plastic.

Flipping out an ever-so-small knife Kereshi cut into the plastic wrap on the bar; Yondu was surprised to see little gold grains spill out from the slit. Up to this moment, he had thought the bars were solid... he realized he actually didn't know what the bars were, or what this deal was really about. His heart rate increased as his gut told him to stay on edge: the whole situation had a real bad vibe.

Kereshi's man used a small device to collect a sample of the product. A few slow beeps that alternated tone at the end prompted confirmation for his boss: "It's pure."

This pleased the criminal; from where he sat he put out his hands in a satisfied gesture. "Well then, Stakar: where might we find the rest?" His accent made his words crisp as he spoke.

"Come on now, Kereshi." The captain returned smoothly. "You know I can't tell you that. We haven't sorted out the details of payment."

Kereshi's thin smile was accompanied by a 'humph' of laughter. Yondu could see what Stakar meant; everything about this guy was questionable. "But of course." Kereshi feigned pondering on what the price should be. With a gesture of his hand he threw out to the captain: "75k."

Stakar acted as if this was amusing. "See, that's funny. Because we had agreed on 150."

Kereshi shrugged. "Yes, well - the market fluctuations have seen a rise in the product's availability."

"Martinex how many of these did we score?" Stakar asked of his first mate, not breaking for a second the eye contact with Kereshi. Yondu could feel it: tensions were starting to rise in the room.

"Fifty." The first mate relayed.

"Fifty." Stakar repeated. "At a kilo apiece that's 110 pounds. Now you _know_ I know how much just an  ounce of this fetches on the street; the whole reason we're here is selling this garbage is _your_ business - not mine. Considering the risk involved, and the resources it took for my crew to  get this to you-" he pointed at Kereshi "-it's 150k. I can always take my business elsewhere."

The crime boss laughed to himself as his hands folded, elbows resting on the table in front of him. Yondu noticed out the corner of his eye: the hand on the big guy to his left, it was getting a bit antsy. His eyes darted to Jorah's face; the focus was on Stakar, occasionally darting over to his boss.

"Mr. Ogord - you forget your place. You are in **my** territory." No longer pleasant: the tone in his voice was very serious. "Now tell me: where can we find the rest." His eyes flicked over to the big guy just a few feet away from the table he and Stakar were seated at. Jorah's twitching hand was suddenly swift; the weapon holstered on his waistband was retrieved and in a matter of seconds the gun was pointed at Stakar's face.

So that's how it was going to be... clearly, they had no intention of conducting a business deal. If they weren't getting the price they wanted, they would take what they were after at the cost of these Ravager's lives. Yondu didn't stop to think.

This was why he was here, right?

He was the muscle. Stakar had a gun to his face. He had to act. The moment the gun was lined up Yondu's hand enclosed around the wrist of the assailant, twisting back unnaturally, the gun now faced at the wall. The sudden action led to the trigger finger pressing down; the blast that hit the wall was loud! A sprawling burn mark was left in its wake. The gang member responded to the engagement of combat with a large hand around Yondu's throat, but not before Yondu flushed that which gripped the gun against the wall and crushed it with his knee to prompt its release. The hand locked on his throat, slamming Yondu concurrently against the wall.

Their momentum was now that of a wrestling match: the two struggled in combat for a moment before crashing through the table, taking their fight to the floor.

Jorah successfully got the upper hand on Yondu, putting him in a headlock. His vision started to get blurry - he had to do something before it all went black. The gang member's hold left his arms free, he had space enough to maneuver: thinking quickly, Yondu slid the jacket off his body save for one sleeve still on his left arm; flipped the jacket around, over his assailant's head; and twisted it to now match the attempt at suffocation. The sudden entrapment prompted releasing Yondu from the hold; the Centaurian got up with a quickness and kicked the giant - at the head and the abdomen - pulling his jacket up along with him. Yondu slipped it back on and peered over his momentarily downed opponent.

Something had been triggered. He cracked his knuckles before dropping down to his knees, straddling now the man doubled-over on the floor. Yondu's hand encompassed his face; steadied it to look up at him faced-forward; and started punching. Left - Right - Left - Right - Left - Right. His pace steady, grunting as his fists made contact. His surroundings blurred. Physically he had not changed where he was, but mentally he had transported. He went back to where he was earlier that day. A place of familiarity. A place where winning was the only option.

In his mind, Yondu was back in the pit.

For the rest of the room everything had gone into high gear the moment Yondu and Jorah went through the table. Stakar and Martinex, Kereshi and his other man: everyone moved at once, every blaster pulled out, the whine of their charge synced throughout the room.

With the table no longer between them the Ravager captain quickly moved in on Kereshi to gain the upper hand; Martinex provided good backup, a blaster in each hand pointed at both adversaries now-standing.

"You have got to be kidding me -are you really _this_ stupid?! Trying to cheat ME, cheat the _Ravagers_ out of a deal?" He closed in on Kereshi – the crime boss now stuck between the wall and the Ravager captain, Stakar's gun pressed against his throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."

Kereshi was thrust into survival mode. His hands up and face in a panic he throws out, "I-I I will pay you 150k!"

"Ohhh we are way beyond that, Kereshi! Shoulda taken that deal when you had the chance." The stress of Stakar's weapon was replaced by a forearm pressed harshly, a hand gripping the collar of his clothes to keep him steady; the blaster relocated to a precise location on Kereshi's temple.

"T-t-two hundred! 200k!" It seemed all he could do was plead for his life with his money.

The captain glared at the criminal. "...Is that all your life is worth to you? 50k?" He shook his head in disgust. "Tell you what. 200k, _right now_ , and I won't kill you." Stakar cranked up the charge on his blaster with his thumb. "I'll give you to the count to five. One-"

Kereshi whimpered pitifully as he hurried at his wrist-piece. "I'm doing it, I'm doing it!"

It was not until his own wrist communicator beeped, confirming the transaction, did Stakar relent. Not quite satisfied – this was _not_ how he wanted this to go – but it would have to do.

With the release of both his hold and his gun the captain retrieved a key card from his pocket, flinging the card at Kereshi's face. "The rest is in a shipping container in The Bottoms." The captain was careful not to turn his back on Kereshi. "Consider this the last of us doing business. Dishonorable bastard..."

"Hey Stakar..." Martinex's voice was stern and full of warning - he was looking over at Yondu.

The entire room's focus went to the fight on the floor. Well... technically, it wasn't really a 'fight' anymore. Grunts accompanied by the slamming of fists became all the noise in the quiet room. Yondu had zoned out. The brute on the ground wasn't even conscious anymore as far as one could tell, but nothing was triggering him out of it... he just kept swinging.

"Heyheyheyhey, _Yondu_!" The captain moved across the room and came down on the recruit; jerking him back to reality with a pull of his arm, bringing him to a stand and getting him off the man on the ground. The heaving of his chest showed he was still alive, but was _not_ in good shape.

Yondu, surprised out of his brawler's trance, surveyed the body between his legs: his battered face was barely discernable. He looked down to his hands: trembling, as if they needed to be formed back into fists.

The room's reaction to the beaten body on the floor - it was on point - but not very helpful.

"God. DAMN." Stakar commented in disbelief. "That looks-" he covered his mouth, taking in a breath, nodding with his observation: "-that's messed up."

Yondu felt his heart sink. _What had he done?_

"Jorah?" Kereshi called from the side wall, an element of panic still in his voice. "What's happened to him? How bad is it?"

The alternate to Kereshi – who had been keeping his gun on Martinex – maneuvered his way around the room (the Pluvian still his weapon's focus) to see their fallen associate close up. The damage was enough for him to promptly turn away - and vomit where the wall met the floor.

Kereshi did not react well to this. " _Jorah!_ "

Martinex curiously turned his head to peer closer at the body with Yondu now off of him. "Agh - _that_ is gross."

Stakar's reaction, the two criminals, and now Martinex; Yondu couldn't take it. He had to get out of that room. Right now. Past his captain and towards the door Yondu made for an abrupt exit.

"Hey-" The captain said earnestly in surprise. "Wait!" He beckoned when Yondu didn't stop and exited the room's door. "Son of a..." Stakar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. In retrospect, he could have held his composure a bit better. He hadn't known Yondu would get so bent out of shape... now he had to go after him. "Martinex, wrap this up."

Guns still at attention as the captain left, Martinex looked down at the battered gang member once more, and then over to the third goon still doubled over in the corner. He landed his gaze on Kereshi and said in his typical quipped tone, "I can call someone for him but we are not paying for it."

* * *

Yondu could not get out of the room quickly enough.

The room however was not the problem; it was his mind, and he couldn't get away from that. Feeling like the energy inside might tear him apart he punched the wall as he walked down the hallway. " _Dammit_!" He cursed to himself, his voice choked uncontrollably at the end.

He felt like he was in the pit when he was hovered over Jorah. Walking down this hallway he felt that same muscle memory, as if he were on his way back to his cage. He raked his fingers down his skull and covered his face with his hands. He wished so bad whatever was happening right now would stop.

The look on Stakar's face was etched into memory; invoking the most harrowing feeling. What must Stakar think of him... surely he regrets having Yondu accompany him on the deal...

He probably regrets it all.

Yondu's inner demon clawed away at everything good that had happened that day and replaced it with only poisonous words: this was bound to happen. Yondu was no good for freedom. At his core, he was nothing more than a battle slave: a mindless killing machine, only suited for hurting others.

Panic welled and rose like a fire inside; what if Stakar kicked him out? What if he saw him as too dangerous to keep around, given he'd practically beat that guy's face in!

Fear clutched at his heart. _What if he takes me back_?

Back. To the outpost. He was, after all, a bad trade.

His eyes began to water as the worst of his thoughts rang out all the possibilities that in reality would never be true.

Stakar would _never_ take Yondu back. For what, to try and get back his money? The thought itself was crazy, but Yondu's mind had left the realm of rational thought.

"Where are you going?" Stakar's voice was behind him as Yondu exited the hallway back out to the snowy alley. "Yondu!" The captain was not the type to be left behind. In fact, he was getting frustrated that the Centaurian kept going even though he had called out to him. The door that served as the exit slammed against the building as Stakar caught up with Yondu, grabbing him by the shoulder to force him to turn around. "Udonta, **stop**."

 _Goddammit_. His lifelong conditioning supplicated he obey what sounded a lot like a command. Yondu could only stand in place, at attention to his captain alongside the wall of the alleyway.

"What's going on with you?" Stakar demanded as his eyes met the recruit's; the captain felt stopped dead in his tracks. Yondu's fire red eyes shined like glass, welled with tears that he'd be damned if he let fall. The look in his eyes: it was fear. Yondu looked _scared_ : this confused the captain to no end. Scared of _what_? What was he scared of, what did he think was going to happen?

It dawned on him: the recruit was afraid that his actions had warranted a rejection.

Stakar couldn't even speak as the pair stood there... he'd never had someone act like this before. Yondu's exterior was so tough and so hard; who would have guessed that underneath all that, there was... just this kid, terrified and alone, up against the world around him.

The alleyway was quiet outside of the recruit's own ragged breathing. Snow had once again begun to fall. "Ah, kid..." Stakar muttered, leaning against the alleyway wall opposite of Yondu. Looking down his gloves he shrugged, "What do I even say..."

His question was rhetorical. Yondu looked away, his fists clenched. He stood there, waiting for the inevitable rejection he thought to come.

"…Maybe there's nothing really to say." The captain offered up the only thing that made sense to him: "As far as I'm concerned, you're a Ravager."

Stakar shook his head a bit, giving a sort of chuckle. "You're also a real bad-ass. And we just made – _so-_ much money. I think you should really just let whatever's going on inside you go."

Yondu looked up to his captain. This wasn't the rejection he had expected. It was... acceptance. The captain further stressed his point, closing their distance and placing a hand on Yondu's shoulder. His alternate hand pointing complimentarily, Stakar finished with authority.

He didn't know what to give but he knew the kid needed _something_ : he had to bring him back to reality. What do they call it? Tough love.

"Now get it together." His voice stern. "That's an order, recruit."

Anxiety still clutching his heart, the statement's response was stunned silence. Yondu took a moment to regain his composure. He... he'd been wrong. Stakar wasn't going to take him back, or kick him out. The captain had meant what he said: so long as Yondu followed the code, he was one of them. With a nod and two beats of his fist over his heart, Yondu gave his first Ravager salute. "Aye aye, captain."

The captain stayed serious not but a moment longer; he very much approved Yondu's response. The tension needing to be broken, Stakar obliged with testosterone-driven contact; welcome or not, Yondu found himself with an arm around his shoulder, Stakar pulling him along as he walked in exit from the alleyway.

"Such drama." He muttered with endearment to the recruit, shaking him up a bit as he said it. "You are way too tense." He grinned with a juvenile sense of glee. "You really need to get laid!"

This inspired bashful feelings amidst his vulnerability; still, the captain's contagious attitude of positivity brought out from Yondu a smile. He pushed the captain away, making sure otherwise his demeanor friendly: he meant no ill will. He was just being himself.

What a day...

Yondu and his captain reconvened (Martinex not far behind) with the rest of the crew, back to the main Ravager vessel. He'd find no bed to sleep on (Stakar was sheepish to admit this); everyone just sort of shared the space available and passed out on the floor. Yondu (of course) didn't mind at all. The spot he scored for sleeping had him around a few other crew members, with a pane of glass acting as a skylight for the stars on the uppermost deck of the ship.

He looked up to the beautiful canvas of speckled light. Surrounded by snoring crewmates. Yondu couldn't help but laugh... quite the upgrade from the floor of his cage. The day had finally come to an end.

The day of his freedom. The day he became a Ravager.

Best. Day. Ever.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Sorting Things Out

* * *

Time is quite the enigma; a person's innate sense of time is what causes them to wake up in that same window every day, regardless of the amount of sleep.

Though he would never set foot there again, Yondu found his internal clock - wired by his life at the outpost - awakening him before all others where he had slept. So strange, that moment – so quiet... The atmosphere even more eerie given that space didn't change with days and nights.

Yondu felt too restless to simply sit there. Utilizing stealth he exited the room and just sort of kept walking; allowing his body to propel forward in a discovery sense with no particular destination, not quite knowing what else to do. The recruit ventured through the metal-framed hallways out towards the center of the ship. There was a vast amount of open space between the port and starboard sides; the abyss connected by a single, sturdy stretch. There was another in parallel, just like it about three decks down.

It caught his attention; Yondu was naturally drawn to the path in his stroll. Compelled by the thrilling aspect of the architectural feat he started across, gazing up as he walked: panel upon panel of structured material made up the oblong dome ceiling that encapsulated the station, stretching up so high above even with him being on the top deck.

He felt - in his early rise - that he was well enough alone. Seeing a golden opportunity to break the barrier of sound he gave out a low, long whistle - following it seamlessly with a fluttering of the tune, though not too fast. In a playful way that he'd patterned before he was rhythmic with the lull of the tone, back and forth; the chirp echoed in its end with a sharp uptick in concurrence with him stopping, reaching the center of the extraordinarily structured pathway.

Yondu allotted a moment to take the scene in around him in addition to the path itself. He had pondered on how he would spend his time and landed on an idea. Here, he was not in anyone's way. The path was stable and safe in its architecture, roughly five feet wide with barriers three-fourths his height. Yeah... this spot would do. Quietly he removed his jacket; his shirt, his gloves, and his shoes.

If he were still at the outpost, he would've followed the same standard that defined almost every day in living memory: start in the pods, then to the arena for training. Though he had absolved himself of any commitment to his former life, Yondu still felt connected to his training. He'd valued his strength and his ability to fight all his life; it was core to his personality. Habitually following his own routine – he raised his fists into a fighting stance and bent slightly at the knees. His fists and feet whooshed through the air, accompanied by the occasional grunt as he practiced fighting moves on the bridge of the uppermost deck; countless selections to alternate through from the endless reservoir in his brain. The cardiovascular workout made him feel disciplined, strong, and (most important) in control.

Stakar happened to be on the third deck when whistling had caught his attention - he observed this sight from the bridge below, finding it curious to say the least. "...kid is somethin' else..." he mused under his breath. Aleta slinked up next to him, eyes also cast upward. The captain continued with his observation. "Don't you think?"

The captain's lady leaned against his back with her own, slow in the start to her response. "I wouldn't say he's all that different... other than being taken with you." Her statement accompanied by a playful nudge; she had picked up on the recruit's demeanor towards the captain even with his short tenure. "He's just doing what he knows."

Without cruelty - her words atypically unvarnished, she added, "He is conditioned – like a dog."

"That-" Stakar's arms crossed, he turns to her with a mite of surprise mixed with feigned outrage. "-is an _awful_ thing to say!" Aleta had such a straightforward, outspoken personality. "It's true! I'm not being mean." She shrugged in earnest.

"No..." he chided her lovingly. "He's just a kid." The captain pulled Aleta into his arms, the pair observing for a moment longer. He breathed her in before he spoke: "We'll show him the way."

Aleta smirked, her arms folded over his. "'We'?" Arching her head back – his look meeting the challenge in hers - she kissed under his chin, saying: "We've got your back."

His smile evident as he craned his neck to kiss her in return. "Love you." He mused, his voice low.

Aleta's retort surmounted to a 'tsk', saying "You too," before separating from him. Her tone loving, her tolerance for displaying _that_ level of affection was low. Taking her leave from the captain she started off in the direction of the mess deck.

As she makes her way she tossed back to Stakar, "You should send him to the kitchen. If he hasn't realized it yet he's going to need to eat." ~

There was a depth to Yondu that the captain had not expected. Stakar developed a real fondness of the new recruit; he loved the 'tough-guy' persona. His performance as a crew member had been (in Stakar's eyes) outstanding thus far. Also - not that he'd ever admit it to _anyone_ – the captain got a real ego-boosting kick out of Yondu's behavior upon receiving his attention. The way that guarded look in his eyes would drop, his shoulders eased in tension. Stakar didn't know it but it was quite the personal tell for a consistent theme in the former battle slave's life: he craved the security that came from having the person he had anchored to, the person he respected most, simply look his way.

The captain found Yondu very much to his liking; he empathized with the former slave wholeheartedly. He considered it his personal responsibility to guide the recruit down the path he'd set him on... with some help. Given his already-demanding role the captain asked Aleta, Martinex, Charlie-27, Mainframe, and Krugarr to aide in onboarding the new recruit. They accepted the request gracefully, not acknowledging: this was the first time Stakar had asked such a thing of them, or taken to someone so.

* * *

Stakar's ship was a powerhouse, by in large due to the structure followed for overall operations.

Functions were departmentalized and managed by those he could trust. Aleta managed the kitchen: ensuring there were ample supplies and resources for providing the crew with sustenance. Where Aleta ran the kitchen Charlie-27 ran maintenance, located on the lower-most deck. The maintenance department from Yondu's perspective needed very little 'running'; processes flowed together like a well-oiled machine. Charlie-27 would explain to Yondu as they walked: "With the setup I've got they actually don't need me down here anymore."

"Damn right we don't." One of the maintenance guys in navy blue threw out, working on the wing of an M-ship. Charlie-27 smirked as he continued. "So I'm starting my own faction." He looked over to Yondu before turning to the men working autonomously, cajoling them with a holler: " **Team C27**!"

" **C27**!" " **C27!** " " ** _Team C27_**!" A scattering of calls came from men throughout the hangar; the respondents wore the same sand-colored jumpsuit as Charlie-27.

Yondu was starting to get the picture: Charlie-27 had his own crew. He was a captain then, like Stakar, but still considered an equal.

"So let's find yours." Satisfied with the touring, the gentle giant moved on to mentorship. "You're gonna have to learn how to fix your own ship. Maintenance will help out a lot but it's on you to take care of your bird." Near the end of the line Charlie-27 landed on the ship he thought to be Yondu's and popped up to check the identifying number. His brow furrowed as he looked through the windshield at the console. "Hey – you got something weird on your dash." He squinted to look closer. "Looks like ... a toy..."

Yondu felt sheepish... but was strongly compelled not to show it, or sign of any weakness, in front of his towering companion. His back tall and posture deliberate he confirmed with a stubborn tone in his voice. "I know - I put it there."

Charlie-27 didn't question it; weird was nothing new for this crew. He actually appreciated that Yondu would stand by it without shame. Kid was going to fit in just fine.

* * *

"So this is the navigation deck." Mainframe explained on her tour of the ship's central processing unit; the hub had an octagon shape, with control panels at every wall and screens hovering throughout the layout – each showing a different sector throughout the ship in alternation. "You'll find the monitors over here for the important stuff: oxygen levels, gravity levels... and over here the switches for closing sectors off - this is so super-important, I mean you never know what might come flying at you out here in space. Any breach needs to be sealed off with a barrier so the rest of the ship can still operate. And over here is the control panel for additional quadrants, if we had any... I know Stakar's talked about getting one but it's a pretty expensive addition- "she stopped rambling to look over to Yondu. His eyes were drifting from screen to screen as she spoke, falling back onto her with a doe-eyed look at her pause.

Mainframe seemed disappointed. "Aww, darnit! This too much information, isn't it? I'm so bad at this."

"Naw you're fine." He affirmed - there was no trouble keeping up with her. He found the room, what she was saying, and even the way she said it all quite fascinating. He paused a minute; he couldn't help himself. "You sure got a pretty voice."

The android could not have been more surprised at the flattery.

"Oh!" if she could have she would have blushed. "Well thank you!" The emerald colored light in her eyes became crescent-shaped half circles as she giggled. "Heeheehee... I-I-" she stumbled a bit, bashful in her response. "I like your voice too."

It was not often she received such a compliment.

* * *

Krugarr didn't speak given the fact that he literally had no mouth. Yondu being the stoic type himself, it made the tour of the weaponry an interesting and quiet one. The recruit appreciated the attempts to communicate in absence of speech, and was amazed when Krugarr used his magic to show off dismantling a weapon, even verbalizing it in muttering to himself, "whoa..."

Charlie-27 was a _huge_ fan of the weaponry; given his management style at maintenance he had plenty of leeway to drop in and hang out with Krugarr; he acted as a third party on a number of occasions for the bouts Yondu spent with Krugarr in the weaponry, giving the Centaurian a taste of their humorous antics.

"So check it out," Charlie-27 drew Krugarr and Yondu's attention to his heavy-duty charge gun. "I built this one myself. You put the charge canister right here-" sliding open the circular panel at the end. Krugarr poured over an array of glass tubes he was holding, each filled with a different-colored miasma of electric swirls. Putting together a plan for the weapon he slipped in a red one, then a blue one.

Charlie-27's eyes widened. "Noo," his voice quiet by nature but expressed urgency, "-you're not supposed to mix them."

Krugarr shook his head. Closing the canister lid he quickly took the weapon from Charlie-27 and keyed in some parameter changes on the settings panel. With a wave of his hand he created an incredible rift in the very space of the room: a golden circle outlined a portal to what could only be another dimension. Without warning he shot the gun into the portal, hitting what appeared to be a wall: the blast - purple in color - warped the sound in the room and hit the target with an incredible sprawling effect, lingering in a most aesthetically pleasing way that earned childlike awe from Charlie-27. "OOooh... I like that."

It was clear the big guy and the crimson humanoid were best friends; Yondu enjoyed his front row seat to their relationship. He wondered what it must be like to have such a companion. Maybe he would know someday.

* * *

Martinex had a reputation for taking on tough jobs that no one wanted but simply had to be done. It was no surprise that he maintained the operative aspects that kept the station clean; he enlisted crew members in that which was janitorial, taking on some duties of his own. He had Yondu accompany him to the storage deck where supplies were often kept; a wide room with tall shelving units, it didn't get the routine attention it deserved to keep clutter from building up. Every so often Martinex would clear out what needed to be removed, organize, and tidy up the place.

Yondu hadn't quite got a read on the first mate; Martinex was so integrated in the lives of the others that he was practically a household name, but he remained quite the mystery in how little he revealed about himself. The recruit stayed silent on their walk through the ship and upon entry to the storage unit, but he did have a burning question he wanted to ask. Given they were alone, Yondu felt bold enough to ask it.

"How come you ain't gonna be a captain like the others?" Orbs of light blue were set on the inquiring Centaurian. Fire red eyes held in place as Martinex took in the abrupt, straightforward question, deciding how he would answer.

"...There is honor in servitude." Came the response from Martinex, reflecting where his thoughts and feelings landed. Yondu didn't have a response back; Martinex looked away and moved across the room to retrieve the cleaning supplies stowed in the corner. "It's a part of Pluvian culture." He murmured before he walked. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

This assumption made Yondu angry; not for any particular reason, but he felt at bit at odds with Martinex in that moment. Yondu had been a slave... serving had been his entire life. He knew what it was like, to feel a sense of honor in what you do. "I get it." He said crossly as he folded his arms, his look stern toward the first mate.

If Martinex had known he struck a nerve he didn't care to acknowledge it. He didn't show any indication of being apologetic, but he did soften his tone a little. "Of course you do." It was not sarcastic but Yondu had a hard time telling this. Without further dialogue the Pluvian outstretched his hand to give Yondu what he had retrieved from the corner: a broom. "I'm going to clear out the shelves: you sweep the floor."

Having dived right in with reorganizing a shelf and its contents, it was a moment before Martinex noticed Yondu hadn't moved from his spot. He just stood there as Martinex had left him, holding the broom.

"What is it?" The first mate inquired, grunting as he set down the heavy box he had pulled from the shelf. His voice sounded a little put-off; Yondu didn't like the feeling it gave him. "...I don't know what you want me to do with this." He quietly admitted.

Martinex rested his hands on his hips crossly. "Do you not know how to sweep? Have you ever cleaned before?"

Yondu stood tall, looking off to the side with his face set in a scowl. Unless you counted clearing blood and grime off of weapons and armor, the answer to that question was 'no'. Feeling pretty defensive about the scrutiny he remained silent, avoiding giving a response out of anger.

The first mate sighed. Walking over and taking the broom he demonstrated and explained as he spoke: "You move the dust and dirt and whatever else is on the floor like this, into a pile. You get the whole floor and then use the pan-" he gestured back over to the corner "-to pick it all up. _That_ is sweeping." He extended the broom in his hand back to Yondu. "Here."

Yondu silently took the broom; Martinex turned away to return to his task. Yondu gave a sweep of the broom a try. A plume of dust reacted to his action, compiling itself into the pile Martinex had started on the floor. Yondu did it again, pivoting to cover ground not yet swept.

– _sweep_ \- Again. – _sweep_ \- And again. – _sweep_ \- And again. A grin spread over Yondu's face; a let-out of a laugh caught Martinex's attention. "What's funny?"

Yondu shrugged, still grinning. "...it's kinda fun." - _sweep_ \- - _sweep_ \- - _sweep_ -

Martinex stared at the Centaurian; he scoffed out what seemed awfully close to a laugh. "Unbelievable," he muttered before returning to break down a set of boxes. The Pluvian was not angry: he wasn't even really perturbed. He just took cleaning seriously. ~

Each of the original Ravagers in their own way would find the recruit as endearing as their captain did. To them, he was a brother; to him, they were the family he didn't know he could have. With the help of his captain and crew Yondu gradually developed new routines; he boldly practiced new behaviors customary to living a life of freedom. In just a few short months, he had become well-adapted to the ship, its processes, and – to some degree – his new life.

* * *

 ** _Beepbeep_**. **_Beepbeep_**. **_Beepbeep_**. **_Beepbeep_**.

Yondu's wrist communicator was going off; he could see it out the corner of his eye from his place on the bed of the room.

With his M-ship he had navigated on his own (something he'd gotten a fair amount of practice with) for a rendezvous that lacked definition outside of being a 'date'; by anyone's standards, his current position indicated it had ended well. He hated to break away but couldn't ignore further the notification on his communicator; he'd already done that for too long. Sitting himself up against the headboard he groaned into the lips of the girl straddling his lap, "Mmm, hang on sugar." With a grunt he reached towards the end table by the bed.

The foxy beauty on his lap gravitated from his mouth to his neck with her lips, an attempt to draw him back into their engagement. His companion: Rexine, from the train heist three months ago. Stakar had made the introduction semi-recently and they had hit it off. Yondu felt lucky; her summer-sweet personality made her fun to be around and easy to talk to. She showed interest in Yondu and his history but not once in her inquiries did he feel ostracized or that she pitied him. Failing to act on the chemistry was not in either of their character; she was fire, raring to burn same as he.

"Aww... but we were havin' so much fun." She exhaled, relenting to slide over and rest on her side. Breathless, she smiled and traced her fingernails down his back as he sat up in the bed, his attention focused on his communicator. The message he had received was from Stakar:

 _Job tonight confirmed. Head back when you can._

The captain had enlisted him for a job requiring 'discretion'; given he was one of the few Stakar asked to go with, the prospect of it made him a bit nervous. Yondu texted back in the affirmative before closing his communicator, turning his attention once more to Rexine. The girl was a well of sexy that he couldn't help but dip back into: he leaned over and took her face gently with a hand, pulling her in for a kiss.

"Mmm," There was a playful whine to her voice. "This feels like goodbye." Her words a murmured precursor to pulling him into the kiss deeper; with a moan at the lock of their lips he responded in turn, just barely breaking contact. "Keep that up and you gonna be stuck with me."

She playfully pushed him away and rolled her eyes. "Don't sweet-talk." There was a bag on the floor that retained her belongings; she turned over to grab something from it. Yondu admired the view of her backside, in particular where her long legs the met the rest of her supple body. "Damn you're fine." He breathed, caring not how she would respond. This earned a big grin from Rexine as she rose to sit up against the headboard. With a swiftness she popped something in her mouth and tilted her head back to aid in swallowing. Her eyes met Yondu's fire red; she could see his confusion.

"Oh," she stopped, not quite ready to speak but hoping to explain. "That's so -" she swallows again while gesturing "- we don't go makin' any babies." Her eyes crinkled as she gave a well-meaning smile. "I don't know 'bout you but _I_ sure ain't ready for all that."

She was older than him but not by much... her words invoked thought in Yondu's head that he hadn't entertained for some time. His heart felt heavy as he looked her over; she was so beautiful. Any children she might have would be just as stunning as her, without a doubt. A bit saddened at her statement in his knowing: this would never be an issue when it came to him.

He felt awkward now, sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from her. Without meeting her eyes he turned back his head a bit to speak. He tried to keep his voice nonchalant - it wasn't working very well. "That somethin' you even really want? Kids?"

Not picking up on the shift in his demeanor she shrugged. "Well, yeah... someday."

Yondu focused on getting dressed and remained quiet. Rex felt a bit awkward herself, vulnerable given her action and her candor to his question without getting a response. She again caressed at his back: more for herself than for him. Yondu stood, separating from her contact to put on his jacket. He turned around to face her, not wanting to be inconsiderate but... what would he even say...

He resolved that he didn't have to say anything; not being forthcoming would result ultimately in no harm. "I gotta go." Finishing with the straps on his clothing, he leaned in to quickly peck his final goodbye before turning toward the door.

"Hey." Having found her voice Rexine called out to him, prompting a turn around. "...Don't be a stranger." Yondu was at the door now; his hand on the side as he stood at its entryway.

Looking back to his lovely companion he gave the reassurance: "I won't be" before he left.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: What It Takes

* * *

Life had truly metamorphosed for Yondu upon being freed by Stakar and joining the Ravagers. At one time driven solely by his will to survive, he was beginning to find purpose. One could simplify this crudely: say he went from being a Kree weapon of war to just another hired gun, but the shift was inordinately more than this.

Yes, the Ravagers were an interstellar crime syndicate. If the job led to profit and didn't conflict with the code, they took it on: stealing, smuggling, bounty-hunting, the scope was incredibly wide. Yondu felt somewhat apathetic towards the occupation of misdeeds. Perhaps it was the camaraderie that came with his new place in life, or perhaps it was the fact that being a battle slave left such a torrid past his tolerance for the objectionable was incredibly high. Regardless of the exact reason, the Ravager recruit had no qualms with the work they did. Hell... he'd be lying if he said all the jobs up to this point hadn't been _fun_.

This next job however would be unlike the rest; Stakar made that clear when he was summing up what was to come to the small group he'd tapped for the task. A crew of four: outside of himself he (naturally) enlisted Martinex; Charlie-27; and Yondu. This was a robbery. Not the flashy, gun-toting kind; this had a quiet, more sinister air. The target: a Xandarian noble's home. The score: a safe, reportedly loaded with enough riches to double what they had in reserves. It was a deal too good to pass up; Stakar's intel had them in just the right position to make a move without getting caught.

Breaking and entering on its own didn't have much cause for a moral dilemma: but the noble was not the sole target. He had a family: a wife and children.

The way Stakar was planning would specifically minimize the aspect of terror where possible. They would avoid any involvement of the job with the children, to stay in line with the code. It further bolstered Yondu's level of respect for the captain – Stakar was a man of his word: the code was his bond. This was dirty work, but no matter how shady the job Ravagers would steer clear of involving kids.

The group split to two smaller model M-ships on the way out to Xandar: Martinex rode with Stakar where Yondu flew with Charlie-27.

"Stakar always keeps jobs like this to just a few guys." Charlie-27 informed as he leaned back in his seat. He was more than happy to let the recruit take over flying. "Says when the stakes are high to keep it tight: only bring guys you know you can rely on, guys you really trust to follow through."

It wasn't being said directly, but the fact that Yondu was on this job was a clear indication that the Ravager captain felt this way about him. He couldn't help a swell of pride, though careful not to show any outward indication. Charlie-27 continued. "With the payout on this I'm finally getting my own ship. Man, I can't wait." He smirked, adding childishly: "Aleta's gonna be jealousss."

Yondu acknowledged his comrade with a bit of a chuckle. Having familiars was still so new... but as foreign as it was, feeling valued by this group had inspired his gratitude - he was part of a whole. They had their quirks and their moral ambiguity, but they were each in their own right redeemable, championed by a leader that was strong, admirable, and worth following.

They landed their M-ships, cloaked, at the coordinates provided. The suns on Xandar had long since set: the thrill of the crime would soon set in as they made their way to their target. Quiet was the night - the chirp of crickets the only ambience. Yondu's heart raced as they made their way across the grounds of the Xandarian noble's mansion: the very sound of his boots on the ground felt like too much noise.

Martinex – skilled as he was – made quick work of the door that would act as their entry. Yondu watched intently as the Pluvian took a knee and connected his handheld piece to the panel off to the door's right. The handheld's screen flashed several different colors before prompting a series of numbers: nimbly Martinex's fingers flew to the keypad, typing in the numbers in what felt like less than a second. The entrance reacted with its doors opening at the center; Martinex did not turn around to acknowledge his companions. He went straight in per the plan - he would find the safe.

Charlie-27 went in afterwards; he was on security detail. His role would be to locate the bedroom of the children: by all means, they would be kept out of this. Standing by the door and stepping in if necessary. He was good with kids; the role was well-suited.

Yondu did his best to stave off his nerves. It's not like he was brand-new to the Ravager role... this was what he did. He _liked_ what he did. Being a Ravager was _fun_. But this job was fundamentally different – no one seemed to be having any fun. His Ravager companions were uncommonly serious, and the captain: he had practically transformed. Stakar almost always had something of a warmth radiating from him, but not a trace of that was present right now. His aura radiated severity: his facial expression, his body language, all of it. The captain was on edge, and that made Yondu on edge.

Stakar didn't even look at him: he just entered the house, knowing that Yondu would follow, through the same door as his Ravager comrades in the same direction as Charlie-27. Past the rear entrance, through the house, up the stairs... Stakar seemed to already know where to go in their search for the master bedroom.

How could he know, though... Where did he get the intel for this gig?

Yondu gripped his weapon tightly as he stood beside his captain from the rear. It was important that he stay focused. He resolved he would just follow Stakar's lead no matter what; that'd been his recipe for success thus far. Yondu felt right in this determination: he would trust in his captain.

For someone of his stature Stakar was a natural in executing stealth. Without a sound he pressed the panel outside the door: it slid open from left to right, a _whish_ briefly cutting through the silence. With a hand he motioned Yondu to flank on the opposite side of the bed ahead of them.

Stakar flanked the left; lightly his footsteps led him around the bed. There was the faintest level of light in the room illuminating from the windows: on the left side slept a woman. Light colored skin, with long brown hair messily gathered in a bun. The captain then did two things in quick succession; he turned on the bedside lamp – and clasped a gloved hand over the woman's mouth. Her eyes darted open.

"Keep quiet," he kept his tone low and serious. A muffled startle escaped as her husband too was unexpectedly woken from his slumber.

"Get up." Stakar secured his other hand to the back of the woman's head. He would coax her into following the instructions as needed. Her eyes welled as she choked back a cry. Her hands went to Stakar's arm, gripping feebly as she was forced to abide and rise, led to the foot of the bed where there was more room. "Get on your knees."

As she genuflected a binding was adhered to her mouth with another put around her wrists, hands behind her back. The captain subsequently reached underneath his jacket, retrieving the dagger held in place by the straps on his back. With his hand he took her head by her hair; and held the blade to her throat. She didn't bother to try and hold back her sobs; eyes horror-struck and set to her husband, nonverbally pleading that he act as her savior.

The tone appropriately set for the terrorizing scene.

Yondu stayed in character - his gun aimed at the noble on the bed with his finger on the trigger. His focus darted back and forth from his task to the scene unfolding at the foot of the bed. The young Centaurian had always been softhearted when it came to women; in a life full of violence, the only tenderness he'd ever known had come from those not-so-lonely nights where he was in a woman's company. As she cried, convulsing against her bonds, his gut tightened without his consent. This didn't _feel_ right...

But this was what they were doing.

To the man of the house Stakar stated clearly: "You need to give us the code for your safe."

The noble - blond hair and sharp blue eyes- had a startled look put on his face. His hands thrust up in a surrendering position, still on the bed under the covering. Yondu felt a twinge of disgust; this guy's just gonna lay there while his wife had a knife to her throat? The Ravager recruit wondered where he got off thinking such was acceptable; this guy needed to get with the program.

Yondu followed Stakar's example: he kept his gun at attention and seized the man at the bicep with his free hand to pull him from the bed and force him to kneel. "Get your ass over here..." the Ravager muttered harshly.

Yanked to a position on his knees the noble looked up to his assailant and the gun pointed at his face. If Yondu didn't know any better he'd say the guy looked more irritated than scared; his hands still up, he swallowed before delivering what was requested. "34. 27. 48. 52."

Stakar released his hold for just a moment to relay this through his comms back to Martinex. After a few minutes the Pluvian would indeed give the affirmative: they had hit their paydirt. Yondu was appreciative - he wanted nothing more than for this to be done.

To his surprise the man at his feet spoke. "Wait!" His words were to Stakar. "The children." Was it a question or a statement... hard to say.

Everything about the captain exuded astringency; the only exception one could possibly perceive was in his hold on the noble's wife, resonating dominance without brutality. Tears streamed down her face, hands twisting in the bonds behind her back as the captain held her in submission by the hair. He responded, "The kids are safe" without emotion. The mother sobbed out in relief at Stakar's words, her voice still restrained by the binding at her mouth.

The noble's eyes began to water. His face contorted into a sour look. "I don't give a damn about those kids." He practically spat out the words.

The wife's eyes widened at this statement, a muffled exclamation directed at her husband. His focus now set to her:

"All these years I've paid for you _and_ for them, and for what?! So you could _screw around_ on me?" Angry tears fell on his face. He proceeded to rant contemptuously."I had  tests done, Nora. Those kids aren't even **mine**! You've made me out to be a _fool_! Raising another man's children..." His voice full to the brim with rage and pain, he seethed through clenched teeth. "I hope he was worth it."

Yondu had a hard time not wearing his astonishment on his face. _What the_ hell _was going on here?!_ He took in the scene before him, bouncing from husband to wife, she looking bewildered and frightened. The noble turned back to Stakar.

"Bring them in here. I'll pay you double, no - triple, to kill them along with her."

The woman's eyes widened; muffled but loud she gave a most fervent protest to his words. Stakar glared at the man before looking to his comrade; Yondu's fire red eyes were wild in this revelation. "Sonnova bitch..." the captain muttered.

This job was evidently multi-faceted: something the captain had not bothered to share. It was too late to address that now, unfortunately. Stakar ignored the look of audacity worn by his comrade and addressed soundly the noble's proposal."Your listing said a million units to take out your wife, cover-up as a robbery. Didn't say nothin' about kids. I sure as hell wouldn't have responded to it if it had." At his feet the woman was utterly losing it now. The captain's face looked slightly pained as he gripped her hair tighter through her muffled protests, keeping her in place with his dagger still to her throat.

" _mommy_? _daddy_?" Little voices from the room next over. Yondu's heart skipped a beat. All the commotion had woken up the kids. Their calls penetrated the walls, as well as the sound of a door opening. " _daddy!_ " another startled cry was heard.

Charlie-27 was on the case: he'd make sure the kids stayed put.

Yondu couldn't hide it; the reveal of this unknown subplot left him feeling angry, confused, and in shock. Resentment grew as he looked from his captain to the noble: he started to feel hate for the man on his knees. What kind of monster had lover's scorn made this man out to be...

Behind him Yondu could see in a picture on the nightstand - a framed photo, their picture-perfect family. Husband, wife. Two small boys for kids... they did not share a resemblance to the noble. While his wife's betrayal was evident, the reaction was beyond the realm of understanding. He may have retained no value for her life, but to go so far as to feel the same for the kids...

His mind had been poisoned by his wife's infidelity. He sought to obliterate the connection he had to them all, to end to the lives of the family he resented so he could selfishly live out his own. The noble continued to argue with Stakar from his position on the floor. " **Come on**! You can't just leave me with them!"

"I can do whatever the hell I want." The captain's tone audacious. "The fallout from this is your problem. We're Ravagers: _we don't mess with **kids**_. You want them dead, do it your damn self."

This earned a wail from the mother. Yondu's heart ached for her; she looked so distraught and helpless. Between her floundering and the muted cries of the children, the scene was nothing short of a waking nightmare. " **Stakar**." Was all the recruit could say, his voice direct and accusatory. He received a glare from the captain in return.

This was not Stakar's proudest moment – far from it. Every second that passed they drifted further away from how he had wanted this to go. He turned his attention back to the noble. "Whatever she's done: _trust_ that  you are more despicable. The fact you would even ask us to do in the kids makes me sick. Transfer the other half for what you owe now. Before I change my mind, and leave you to deal with the mess you've created."

Clearly angered by the captain's words the noble paused briefly before conceding. Deliberately he moved to his wrist-piece and keyed in the transaction; the captain's communicator indicating the transfer following – half a million units.

Stakar tuned out everything from there on in: the look of betrayal from his recruit, the writhing woman at his feet, and his own conscience.

He gravitated to his knees: his voice but a whisper in the ear of the woman, shaking and wailing in a muffled tone. "Ssh." He felt a need to soothe her as he pressed the tip of the blade to her chest, in the location of her heart, wrapping his alternate arm around her head to keep her steady. He would make this as quick and painless as possible.

The look in her eyes - pure unadulterated fear - as she sobbed in what would be her last moments.

This was too much. Yondu had to turn away. He wished he couldn't hear the sounds that filled the room... it was downright suffocating. It did not end until Stakar rested her lifeless body down on the floor.

The captain, a lump in his throat, did his best to withhold any show of emotion with marginal success. He returned to his feet; using a cloth from his pocket he wiped the dagger clean and re-holstered his weapon. He looked to Yondu, making his authority all too clear when their eyes met.

"This needs to look convincing." He said bluntly. "Beat the hell out of him... don't kill him."

" _mommy! mommy, daddy_!" " **daddy**!" The frightened shouts that continued to be heard from the children resonated with Yondu: permeating his brain and every fiber of his being.

This was just... so... _wrong_.

How could Stakar do that?! The gravity of the situation spawned that familiar feeling in Yondu's chest, that clutching sense of despondency and dread that he only felt in the worst of moments. Anger the ever-friendly emotion to solicit in times like these; he glared with intensity at his captain.

Stakar saw it for what it was: insubordination. " **That was an order**." He was uncaring, serious, in a way he'd never been towards Yondu before.

Yondu clenched his jaw. So _that's_ the way it's gonna be... "Aye aye _captain_." His tone wrought with spite.

He holstered his weapon and promptly sucker-punched the man knelt before him, sending him to the ground. Making him feel pain would provide some level of satisfaction. The beating that ensued became an outlet; finally, something that made sense to him in this web of shit... The whole event had rattled his heart, shaken his foundation, and shattered the image he had of his captain.

Yondu made sure to stop himself from going too far: he didn't want to prompt his commander needing to intervene because he lost control. He would not speak or look to Stakar from there on.

* * *

The job complete, the four retraced their steps to the M-ships; they would need to move quickly. When Yondu started in the same direction as Charlie-27 the captain called out. "Yondu." He motioned with his head. "You ride with me." Martinex looked from the captain, to Yondu, then back to Stakar. Without a word he walked to the opposite site of Charlie-27's M-ship, making eye contact with Yondu as he passed.

The Centaurian huffed a breath through his nose; left with little in terms of options he accompanied the captain on the ride back to the main Ravager vessel.

Stakar made a few jumps, but he did not make as many as he could have to result in a swift return. The trip up to this point had gone without dialogue; Yondu would've been content with it staying that way. But Stakar was intent on hashing out the very clear tension that filled the Ravager craft; eventually he slowed the pace to a cruise, turning his head to address the Ravager recruit.

"Let's talk about what happened."

At this Yondu only scoffed. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do. The captain however didn't need his permission; his words were more of a statement than a suggestion.

"I didn't tell you about that part of the job. I should have." He was stating the obvious. "I just..{sigh}... I honestly didn't think I needed to…" It was a candid, piss poor excuse.

Yondu's body language made clear his disdain for the engagement in conversation. But since he obviously had no choice... might as well say what was in his mind.

"...did Martinex know?"

Stakar had no response; in itself the answer was evident.

"And Chuck?" A shorthand from Yondu for Charlie-27.

Again, his inquiry was met with silence.

"Wow." Yondu's voice cracked a bit. His arms folded he looked away to the side, angry at his own show of emotion. Quiet filled the air... looking down at his chest Yondu's eyes fell to his flames. "...thought Ravagers lived by the code."

Stakar - already struggling to maintain his composure - was aptly rattled at the mention of his mantra. His tone sullen: "We do, Yondu. That's what we did."

The young alien carefully chose his words and delivered them. "Doesn't seem real 'classy' to kill a defenseless woman."

Provocative the statement was, it earned a severe reaction from the captain. "Alright." Stakar said in a reprimanding tone. He flipped over to autopilot; with seriousness he set his full attention to Yondu. "You got anything else you want to say?" The look to the recruit was fierce; Yondu could feel it even though he continued to avoid any eye contact. He would not respond.

Stakar's tone shifted, elevating as tensions were on the rise. "You think I _wanted_ to kill that woman?"

"I don't know what you want." Yondu threw back. "Seems I don't really know nothin'. About you, or any of this."

Stakar, angered by this indignant – albeit justifiable – behavior, responded reflectively. "I get it, if you're upset I didn't keep you in the loop, but you are real close to being out of line so check your goddamn attitude. I stuck to the code."

Yondu wasn't having it. He knew he had no room to talk, but even he had lines to draw. Especially when it came to women, a mother of children no less. "That gonna help you sleep at night?" He directed his gaze to the captain coldly. "The 'code'?"

The way he mocked that last word was the last straw for Stakar. His eyes narrowed as he lashed out. "Get **off** it. Seriously. You were a Kree battle slave: you think I _don't know_ what that must've meant? Go ahead: tell me _you_ never killed any women, or children for that matter."

Anger was now mixed in with shock - the words cut Yondu to his core, rendering him unable to say anything. It was rare to hear a reference to his past, but for the captain to do it in _this_ way... The silence left the tension in the air thick; full of dejection and remorse.

Stakar regretted what he said immediately. Clearly, out of character himself. "...I shouldn't have said that." He paused, trying to collect the muster to be honest with his companion. "...I really didn't want to do this job. The decision to take it on wasn't easy... it was even harder to bring up with you. So I didn't."

Yondu was quiet. Still avoiding eye contact he muttered. "You don't answer to nobody. If you didn't wanna do it then why did you...?"

Stakar's response was sullen and direct: "We needed the money." Yondu looked over to Stakar. He needed to hear what he had to say. "Everything we've got, everything I want us to do: it doesn't just happen. It costs to keep this thing going. With this score, Charlie-27 can finally get his own ship. We can get a third quadrant on the main." The captain was beginning to channel more of himself. His words definitive, Stakar gave his protégé a clear lesson in life:

"Sometimes the score is just too good to pass up. Sometimes the unsavory has to be done. So we do what we have to do.

This is what it means to be a captain.

You make the tough calls, and you take on the worst of it. You'll have to make hard choices too Yondu, when you become captain."

This was the first time Stakar had made such a mention of Yondu's future. The young alien's face softened; a glimmer of his adoration for the Arcturan was starting to resurface.

The air once again fell to a hush as they drifted through the stars. There was a soothing that came with the low hum of the M-Ship, offsetting the void of sound that was outer space. Stakar eventually broke the silence to say his final piece, his voice but a murmur.

"Im sorry I didn't tell you about the job." The apology was brief but sincere.

Yondu let it all sink in. He observed the demeanor of the captain: bereft, solemn, with a sense of grief. Empathy - an emotion foreign for Yondu to feel for his fellow man - was starting to develop. Despite the tensions from their dialogue, the lingering feelings of shock from the scene, and the faint traces of resentment left for being kept in the dark: Yondu held dear his overwhelming respect for the captain.

Stakar took no pleasure in that vicious act. For the sake of his crew, for the sake of his dreams, he was willing to sacrifice everything: even his own soul. The recruit felt compelled to say something, something that would let Stakar know where he stood.

"...don't worry 'bout it..." his signature low, quiet voice made his words a mumble."...I'm sorry too." Not necessarily for his own actions, but for all that had transpired: for what Stakar had to live with.

The ride would be quiet for its remainder as Stakar made the jump back to the main. The lesson learned here was one Yondu would never forget.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: That Thing you were Missing

* * *

Knowhere: a safe haven for outlaws. The mining colony located inside the severed head of a celestial was a criminal hotspot. What had started as a development community designed by an eccentric architect had transfigured into an amalgamation of bars, gambling outfits, peddler kiosks - among other strange and exotic locales. Buildings constructed in a build-as-you-go fashion, surrounded by tight and densely populated pathways that swarmed with the life of business.

As Yondu maneuvered through the congested terrain he nearly ran over the person in front of him: a young girl - green skin, dark hair; shabby clothing but a determined look, she showcased the object she was peddling from the collection in her knapsack.

"You buy!" She demanded, "Five units." Yondu - startled by her intrusion - took a second to focus on what she was holding. He didn't know what the trinket was: round, pink-colored body propped upon two little feet; big gaping mouth but no eyes; with a series of feather-tipped appendages that wove from being thrust upward.

It was pleasant to look at. Her approach aside, Yondu found the object to his liking.

"...alright." It was only five units. After paying the girl he slipped the little monster into a pocket that lined the inside of his jacket: rather it was a duster, a longer style coat than he'd first been allocated when he became a Ravager.

It seemed so far away now at over two years ago.

The former battle slave had truly come into his own. Life enriched with relationships gradually brought Yondu out of his shell, enabling him to establish a sense of self and even make some friends; Horuz and Tullk, in particular.

Ah, Horuz: curly hair, often brash and sour-faced, he was never afraid to say what was on his mind – Yondu liked this about him a lot. In Tullk there was a highly skilled thief, with a rhotic accent and short dreadlocks; a true Ravager in the sense that he was a damn good criminal but had a love for life and fun, and just the right amount of twisted swirled in.

The two were a huge influence (and not always in the best way) for Yondu's sense of humor and personality in general. They brought out a whole other side to Yondu, one that was a big laugher – amused by their squally antics with an ease similar to that of entertaining a toddler.

That inherent dependency he had on the Ravager originals, on the captain in particular had started to subside; looking to him less, venturing out on his own more. The captain took notice of this growth – how could he not? From slavery to full-fledged self-definition... it was awe inspiring. Stakar was proud of Yondu. He felt honored to have been a part of his journey and growth. He wanted to show this somehow: so Yondu was here.

Venturing beyond rational borders to the Rip, adhering based on desire rather than obligation. He'd been told to make a connection with someone named Reighn, that she specialized in weapons and owed Stakar a favor. It was humbling that Stakar would use such on Yondu's behalf - he was determined to make the most of it and would follow through, seeking out this new encounter.

* * *

A sound rang out upon entering the (practically disheveled) building that served as his destination.

It was a tonal shift from the loud and crowded strip outside. The walls of the structure gave off an earthy dark blue with ceilings low. Dangling units like wind chimes (one of which Yondu knocked upon entry) littered the ceiling and reflected bright flickering lights throughout the room, the result being almost magical in the way it felt like the stars.

The woman sat at a desk reading a book looked up upon her storefront being breached. Her head had definition albeit lacking in hair; a tattoo lined the center of her skull - two symmetrical rows of white dots, from her forehead to the base of her neck. Gold bangles decorated her wrists, matching the loops that pierced her ears. With eyes like rubies and skin a cool cerulean blue.

A female Centaurian – _this_ was a first. Upon standing her slim physique was accentuated by the flowing blue-ish purple material that made up her dress; she seemed amused by her visitor's lack of tact when it came to looking her over, stupefied by her existence.

"Let's see...Ravager flames, Centaurian." She motioned at the right side of her head down to her face, a gesture to accompany her words. "The scar. You must be Yondu Udonta."

It clicked in Yondu's head; Stakar must've told her to expect him. He returned the acknowledgment with a nod, saying nothing more.

She looked him over with a mysterious speculation. After a moment she moved from the desk, making her way to a curtained divider towards the rear.

"Come on back."

Yondu – a sucker for a fine woman regardless – was fascinated by this female counterpart to his own race. What really got him were those eyes... breathtaking, soul-piercing orbs of fire. He followed her direction willingly through the curtained doorway towards the back of the shop.

In an expansive room lined with shelves an ancient-looking mural caught Yondu's full attention from its position on the far right wall: a warrior standing tall – armed with a bow and arrow. Sparse red and yellow clothing, the shoulders had a prominence equal to that of a most curious extension on the head. Yondu didn't know how else to describe it other than looking like a massive red fin.

Reighn took notice. "You like that?" Her question was not rhetorical but she didn't await a response. Facing the mural herself she ruminated with a smile, "Hard to believe that's what we used to look like."

She turned back to Yondu; quizzically he looked from her to the mural, giving a nod towards the head of the picture. "What's with the fin?"

" _Ah_ \- the crest." Moving her attention to the shelves on the back wall she traced a hand along a seam as she spoke. "There was a time when Centaurians came close to extinction. Evolution had its say - the crest faded from the surviving. History tells us it was the physical representation of a body's binding to spirit... the ' _taheli_ '."

With a look and a playful tone she added, "There are other interpretations; I pull from the Alpha Centauri tribe's school of thought, so take it with a grain of salt."

Yondu felt a bit awkward at this inside joke she seemed to have with herself. To date he had very little exposure to heritage; the vaguest trace of memory from his youth – that battle slave who taught him to whistle all those years ago... Yondu could barely remember his face, let alone what was said; the only thing he really remembered was something about Centaurians being warriors.

The lack of understanding made him uncomfortable... the dialogue also seemed a bit senseless. He was here on business; best to redirect attention towards that. "No disrespect but I'm not here for a history lesson."

Reighn looked over - her eyes were intense, though she did not look angry – more like she was getting a read on him. It was still quite unsettling. "Why _are_ you here?"

He shrugged. "'Sposed to get somethin' from you."

"...Hm." She held him there a moment before looking back to her shelves of various items. " _You_ are here to receive a gift. That gift could be physical, or it could be something within."

Yondu seemed to tense up at that; he thought this chick was a weapons specialist. What was her deal?

If she noticed his disposition she certainly didn't care; the mysterious alien woman engaged him from a distance, she along the wall while Yondu lingered near a table at the room's center. "Centaurians are natural mystics, you know. Our race shares the same genetic makeup: just as we see, hear, and speak there's a connection – to the elements, and the spirits around us."

Well that just sounded silly. Yondu couldn't help his impulse to react with a laugh. " _Ha_... yeah, that ain't me."

Her eyebrows rose at the challenge. "You'd be surprised! There's an intuitive and mystical connection with _all_ that exists. My husband can calm wild beasts. And I, I can develop empathic relationships - though they are limited more so with higher life forms."

The mystic's thought was the Ravager before her just needed some direction. "Have you ever felt a connection with nature?"

Yondu firmly shook his head. "Nope."

She pondered a bit. "...What about an affinity for sensing those around you – perhaps _things_ rather than people: do you ever feel as if you know without reason where an object might be located? Like if a foreign substance is present."

What did that even _mean_? "...you talkin' like, _feelin_ ' people... things bein' outta place?"

"Exactly."

He confirmed steadfast. "No."

"Hmm." She stewed on that for a moment. "...So there's _nothing_ you feel inside you? Nothing you do that you connect with..." she murmured thoughtfully.

Yondu didn't much appreciate the declaration. He felt pressed to offer up a rebuttal but didn't know what to say - what she was describing just wasn't him. Reighn's statement was more self-directed than anything; she was too tenacious to give up.

As wheels turned in her head she absentmindedly started to whistle - a habit that helped her think; gently touching her neck, she whistled as she thought. Yondu looked up immediately at the introduction of sound.

"I can do that." Reighn stopped; her gaze once again set upon him.

"…you can?" She was pleasantly intrigued. "Show me."

A bit on the spot. Yondu leaned against the table... with a closed-off aura he braved his usual barriers to show what he could do. Pursing his lips and curling his tongue, Yondu whistled; starting in that same low tone, playing with the tune briefly in that usual pattern.

The mystic's smile grew as the Ravager before her demonstrated the talent; at her request he went high and low, showing off the skill he'd discreetly perfected over his twenty-three years of life. It would turn out he had incredible range: four octaves, varying in pitch and frequency.

"...I'm impressed." She said upon his end. After another moment's pause "I'm very impressed." Yondu had felt pretty silly about the vocalization; her positive review was a well-received boost to his ego.

"I think I have just the thing." Reighn turned around to peruse the shelves behind her. Retrieving a rectangle-shaped box, she rested it down on the table.

"This-" the mystic spoke as she undid the latches on each side "-is very rare."

She opened the box and pulled out: an arrow. Slick and shining, with a razor sharp head - the length spanning from her palm to her elbow; at the tail end there was an imbedded section. A red crystalline substance made visible through the spacing.

Yondu looked at her blankly; he avoided any comment on it. It was an arrow – how rare could an arrow be? Outside of the imbedded section and being golden-bronze in color it really looked no different from the arrows he used in his youth as a battle slave.

"Given your aversion to history I'll spare you _all_ the details." She'd picked up on his unimpressed demeanor: "Arrows like this were once commonplace for Centauri warriors; inside here-" tapping her finger on the glimmering crimson quarter section "-is a substance called _yaka_. It reacts to sound."

"Of course," she said with a trace of a smile, "there'd be chaos if it reacted to just _any_ sound. The arrow has a frequency-based technology – you use headgear to synchronize brainwaves, pick up sound, and the arrow will move – fast, slow, in any direction.

This arrow was made to fly.

So your whistling –" Crimson eyes set on the Ravager, she added coyly "-would be very well applied."

Yondu's face made clear his overarching perplexity; he gave a stab at repeating this back, trying to make sure he understood. "So that arrow-" pointing at it "-works with a, headset or somethin'... and when I whistle it'd move?"

The mystic woman acknowledged in approval but did not linger; instead she glided to a backlit casing where a row of cybernetic enhancements were available and browsed the selection on Yondu's behalf.

"You'll probably want something more functional... you can get these anywhere though, if you change your mind. The ones I have will work with the arrow, but their primary function is more for a mental enhancement, increased effectiveness of the mind."

What she retrieved was odd in shape: a flat surface, narrow, curved in an angular fashion. Reighn looked at him and spoke quite directly. "This _is_ an implant: it goes on your head. The placement has to be exact. I'll need to do it for you."

She tilted her head slightly. "Will you let me?"

His gut's immediate reaction was 'no'. Yondu didn't have the best history with technology implanted on his head; but he was curious, about this prospect – if he needed the headgear to make the arrow fly, then... he gave a noncommittal shrug.

Reighn attempted to ease any concerns. "This will not harm you – it is merely a prerequisite to putting your gift to use. I just need you to hold still." Drawing into his personal space; just shy of an arm's length between them and eyes set on his – her hands held the piece in a hover over his head.

"It will probably feel... strange... at first." She slowed in her speech as she gave him the warning. "Try and stay calm."

She placed the device on his head: resting it at the center of his skull, spanning from the crest of his forehead to the base of his neck. Pressing down on the metal section in its tail the implant lurched into scalp, fusing into Yondu's very nerves, and

 ** _-VWOOM-_**

The sensation of the device becoming one with him was sudden and surreal - like being hit by an electromagnetic pulse.

Youndu's pupils dilated, his respiratory rate increased; his heart as though it might explode. He grabbed the woman before him with both hands in a knee-jerk reaction, just to stabilize; though she allowed it he still quickly let go – trying his damnedest to get back in control.

"You're okay, just breathe, just breathe..." She attempted to talk him through it. "how do you feel?"

Any enhancement such as this would be a shock to the system at first.

The tech's intended purpose was to provide increased coherence and more synchronous oscillations throughout the brain; it not only acted as catalyst for interacting with the arrow, but counteracted stress-related brain changes, decreased anxiety, and increased memory and cognitive abilities.

As his breathing slowed to a normal rate the mammalian thought on the question – how _did_ he feel? It was like reality shifted... a bit dreamlike, but with sharp focus.

The mystic took advantage of his focused state. "Let's see what you can do."

Motioning over to the arrow; she faced it, indicating with the nod of her head for Yondu to do the same.

"Relax. Let yourself be centered." Her arms moved as she spoke, almost as if performing a meditation. "Focus on the arrow.

Don't _think_ about what you want it to do – _feel_ it." resting her hands over her heart "-right here."

This was a strange set of instructions; Yondu was not quick to act. With a nod she encouraged him; he felt nervous to try.

Yondu attempted the same tune of a whistle he had done before - starting with a low, lulling tone. Sure enough the arrow moved: rising up in response to his whistle, floating in midair!

He watched in disbelief – it surprised him so much he lost confidence in the ability.

The yaka arrow shuddered in mid-air as the tune wavered in his nerves. Yondu abruptly ended the whistle in an uptick out of habit; creating a severe reaction. The arrow shot forward, upward, down: **WHAM** – wedged into the table.

Reighn narrowed her eyes a bit before pulling out the arrow firmly and placing it down. She came closer:

"The arrow is moved by your thoughts and sound but whatever you desire – what you feel in your heart –" placing a hand over his heart she said firmly: "will be its true compass. Be true to yourself: use your sound and - _will-_ the arrow to rise. Rise, and stay."

Yondu thought through the mystic's words as she moved away. _Feel it_ , she had said. _Right here_.

The more he thought about it, he did feel different with the cybernetics in place. In his head and his heart – there was _something_. He looked to the arrow and willed it to follow his command. _Rise, and stay._

A short beckoning whistle: the implant, in concurrence with the arrow itself, glowed red in reaction. And just like that the arrow zipped up - floating before him like a solider at attention.

He looked to Reighn with disbelief; the half-smile on his face was his first in their interaction.

Her visage warm, "It seems this suits you."

From the box she retrieved a holster for the arrow. "Yaka is an ancient and powerful element: as old as fire. Take some time, practice using it – tap into that connection. Just clear your head, use your heart. It will come to you naturally."

Yondu wasn't sure how to process all of this. "Alright...thanks..." was all he could say.

Reighn smiled knowingly. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it. Consider me a resource, if ever you need." Stating with a bow of her head, "I wish you well."

* * *

After bringing the craft to its resting position underneath the main, Yondu placed the little monster from his jacket pocket on the dash of his M-ship.

Lost in thought; still adjusting to the change in physiology that came with the tech. The feeling was otherworldly, though he didn't mind the way it felt... just a bit much to take in.

Standing outside his docked M-ship and brooding is where Charlie-27 would see him; when the jumpsuit-wearing captain approached he commented immediately on Yondu's physical addition.

"Whoa... Check _that_." He sounded as if he approved. Bravado kicked in upon seeing his comrade; Yondu decided to do a little showing off. "Watch this."

He had the one trick and he used it – with a beckoning whistle to the arrow resting in its holster the device came to a float between Ravager and faction captain. Charlie-27's glee could not be contained.

" _Ohhhhohoho, **wow**_!  That is crazy! Wait 'til Krugarr sees this, he's gonna love it." He grinned before making a motion with his head down the way. "Come on. I've got a new friend I want you to meet."

Charlie-27's exclamation had caught the attention of a certain Ravager captain. He made his presence known before Yondu even returned the arrow to its holster.

"Yondu." Stakar called out. He observed the tech enhancement same as Charlie-27 upon drawing near, "I like that. It's good to see Reighn was able to hook you up."

Captain and crew member didn't exchange words on the venture; just a glance with a slight smile, on both ends. Charlie-27 interjected on the moment towards Stakar: "I was gonna introduce him to Zed."

"Perfect." The captain jumped at the opportunity; resting a hand on Yondu's shoulder for a moment as they turned to walk, the three meandering down the way towards the hub for maintenance. "On Arcturus with 'Leta earlier today – she _loves_ the candy you can get back home – I was on my way out when I see him: _stripping_ the alternator from my M-ship."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I was so pissed - told him if he didn't fix it I'd kick his ass. He had nothin': just a stolen toolkit and the clothes on his back - but he fixed it!" Stakar shrugged. "Talent with no place else to go; seemed only right to offer him a place with the Ravagers – figured he'd make a good addition down here in maintenance."

They came to a stop. In front of the three: was a boy.

Sat on a crate with his elbows resting on his knees he was polishing grime off a ratchet, a stack of dirty tools at his feet. Looking at him one would have a hard time believing he was only ten years old. He had a deep tan to his skin and hazel colored eyes; a scar lined his face from the upper left of his forehead in a diagonal slash over his eye, ending at the curve of his face. The oversized (for him at least) pair of goggles rested atop a messy fro of hair that reminded Yondu of fire: deep red with an occasional streak of orange. He wore an undershirt and pants with a navy blue jacket tied around his waist.

"Meet Zed. Zed – this is Yondu."

The boy looked up at hearing his name and flashed a big smile in greeting - "What's up?"

The Centaurian was befuddled by the introduction. He looked over to Stakar, saying almost stupidly, "It's a kid."

"' _It_ '? That's nice." Zed cheekily offered with sarcasm. Charlie-27 was kind enough to interject. "He don't mean nothin' by it, Zed."

Stakar shrugged, reasoning with Yondu. "A kid with a weapon is still a force to be reckoned with. Consider him a 'Ravager-in-training'."

Yondu still was stuck on the concept. "But we don't mess with kids."

"No we do not." Stakar reaffirmed. "But he can be useful, and when you think about it there's really no age requirement for joining."

That much was true. Yondu had never considered a kid joining up with them before. He was a fiery little sprite, too. Though Yondu had no intention on pushing back Zed was ready and raring to step up to his own defense anyway. "You got a problem with me?"

The respective three looked now to the boy, stunned– it was rare for _anyone_ to speak to Yondu in such a challenging way; he had continued to build that reputation in his time as a Ravager that he'd had as a battle slave – not that Zed would have known this. A little hardened himself the boy put down the tool to rise up, his lean body standing as tall as his height would muster.

"I may be a kid but I'll take you on. You wanna go?" He gestured with his head and put up his fists. "Come on tough guy."

Charlie-27, Yondu, and Stakar stood there dumbfounded – before Yondu burst out with laughter.

" **BAHAHA-** HAHAha- _hahahahahaha_!"

He couldn't help it. Yondu being challenged – by a _kid_ no less – was utterly hilarious. His boisterous laugh contagious; Charlie-27 and even Stakar found themselves joining in as his laughter did not stop: Yondu laughing so hard that tears started to form in his eyes, even doubling over, resting his hands on his knees for support.

Zed could've gotten angrier at Yondu's reaction to his challenge but the atmosphere was now so wrought with silliness he didn't. Slowly he relaxed both his stance and the scowl on his face; scoffing out a laugh, he tossed the cloth he was holding at Yondu as a harmless way of getting back at him.

Yondu's personality had not drastically changed; he was still that tough, silent, stoic individual that he always had been and always would be. But as he laughed wholeheartedly, Yondu felt at peace with life and those around him. Even if just momentary... it was nice.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: A Moment In Time

* * *

 ** _Shiiink._** The sound of a weapon being sharpened could be heard well before Yondu reached the weaponry.

 ** _Shiiink._** It was an audible indicator of Krugarr's activity.

Krugarr was using his powers to accomplish his task: sharpening a sword from the weapons stock with the same Eldritch magic he'd been practicing for years.

Yondu would never know the story of the Lem sorcerer's origins, or how he became part of the Ravager crew... Krugarr was shrouded in mystery. The Centaurian didn't think much of it; a red-scaled mute reptilian with magic powers was best accepted at face value.

Beyond their age difference (who knows just _how_ vast that was) the sorcerer stood much taller than Yondu, 'standing' in that unique way those hailing from the planet Lemista do.

Krugarr's body had a snakelike end that accompanied the more humanoid upper half. It was uncomfortable for him to slither along the metal grated floors of the ship; climbing ladders was also out of the question. If Krugarr needed to go anywhere he would - more often than not - teleport himself; using portals that broke the laws of physics as we know, ripping through space-time to enable transport from one place to another.

Yondu had accurately presumed he would find the Lem in his usual space; the weaponry being his domain Krugarr could use magic without disruption. Sparks of gold fanned out from the magical sharpening block that drew up the sword hovering in mid-air. Like an expert craftsman the humanoid's hands cascaded in a vacillating way; orchestrating the method of sharpening the blade.

 ** _Shiiink._** ** _Shiiink._**

"Hey Red."

Krugarr looked to Yondu when he came near with curiosity and attentiveness - typical of the sorcerer's character. It took only a flip of his finger for the sharpened blade to be sent back to its resting place.

A quick nod of the head acknowledged the sorcerer's eye contact. Yondu prompted: "Chuck said you'd get a kick outta this."

Shifting his duster and giving a short whistle, he brought the arrow to attention between Krugarr and himself.

Charlie-27's presupposition was spot-on; Krugarr's eyes went wide upon seeing the arrow react to sound. Looking from his crewmate to the arrow Krugarr took it with both hands – twirling it around, examining closely.

"Y'ever seen somethin' like this before?"

The arrow still clutched in one of his reptilian hands, Krugarr flashed a mandala to communicate.

His magic portraying an animation scene: the caricature of a silhouette (looking an awful lot like that mural's portrayal of a Centaurian warrior) shooting an arrow; music notes to indicate a tune; the animated arrow zipping and dancing around the notes reactively.

The golden cartoon made it clear: Krugarr knew well the arrow's material and the prowess of its ability.

Yondu was embarrassed to admit: "Can't do much else with it yet." Krugarr's large dark orbs for eyes met Yondu's inquisitively, for which the reply was a shrug. "I'll figure it out though."

The Lem seemed to have a moment of thought; looking off to the side, a long finger from the hand clasping his chin stroked the side of his face reflectively. As if a light bulb lit up over his head Krugarr popped and pointed upward: he had an idea.

A crimson hand waved in precursor to a portal. Large and wide enough for the pair to walk through, though the destination 'where' was quite the mystery...

Krugarr moved through the opening - such a unique sight; twisting his body in almost a dive, his snakelike tail slithering expertly from his position on the floor through the portal. Expectantly the sorcerer looked to Yondu to follow from the opposite side.

The young Ravager hesitated; this would be a first. While he trusted Krugarr entirely, Yondu didn't necessarily trust the outcomes of his magic... stepping through that portal made him uneasy as all get out. Apprehensively though he would follow: ducking his head to avoid any contact with the passageway he stepped through the golden circle - to a place unknown.

A homegrown dimension... an expansive, boundary-less chamber, like an amphitheater that appeared to stretch in all directions. The air felt denser... the temperature fluctuated. Time itself seemed to stand still...

Yondu looked up, all around at the bluish-grey of the atmosphere. Entering at the chamber's center – the portal closed upon Yondu stepping through. With no apparent source for the moonlit glow that gave the space light, it was a wonder how such a place even existed.

Yondu felt speechless in his amazement as he took in this new reality. Long fingers belonging to Krugarr's right hand spanned over Yondu's shoulder to the middle of his back, prompting him to look over.

Krugarr gestured to the expanse around them before moving both hands in a wave to portray another mandala. A golden animation of the arrow, musical notes dancing around.

He wanted to see the arrow fly.

Yondu looked to the vastness of the chamber that stretched on without end. Curiosity for both this space and the arrow would come into play; the Centaurian embraced the opportunity to give the arrow a go.

The device in his hand: slow and deliberate Yondu extended his arm and released, letting the arrow take off, with his whistle the wind at its sails.

The arrow shot forward through the air in reflex to Yondu's tune. In a long scooping curve it traveled out, around, and back.

A fantastic trail of red followed behind the arrow: originated from the glowing claret at the tail, neck, and imbedded crystal. The radiance of the arrow's path saturated the air in the shape of a figure-eight.

Alternating from the high pitch down to a low Yondu willed it to slow upon return, his open hand acting as a landing space.

Having no mouth Krugarr's smile would be seen through his eyes, crinkling at the edges as Yondu held the arrow post flight with a sense of wonder and a slight half-smile crept onto his face. "Huh..."

The arrow was really quite something... Watching it fly, controlling it with his heart and his sound: Yondu found the experience unlike any other – and it was fun. It was fun as hell.

Intricately the Ravager sorcerer traced a circular pattern in the air, a shimmering line of gold that became a ring.

Scaled hands gently pushing it out... the reaction: a multiplication. A series of circles – each newly created one slightly bigger than the last.

His canvas was the air above; Krugarr directed the rings to rest in a pattern, Yondu watching with that usual sense of amazement that came with seeing Krugarr practice his art.

When satisfied with the layout the sorcerer looked to Yondu, motioning up with his head.

Yondu – on the same wavelength of nonverbal communication – nodded back, and whistled.

The arrow zipped up: soaring through the first circle target.

Hitting the mark caused the golden ring to clear - it pleasantly popped in its dissipation, golden dust sprinkling down in the aftermath. Whistle navigated the arrow through each of the circular targets in a zigzag pattern, all reacting with that spectacular visual effect.

This was great! All Yondu did was embrace the arrow following a path, the inherent desire in his heart reflected in the tune of his whistle... The yaka arrow danced to the whistling song: glorious loops, turns, spins, and spirals – dahlia traces brightening the space with the afterglow of its flight pattern.

They continued like this with no perception of time; Yondu practiced different whistling techniques, the arrow provided a variety of results.

By the end of their second hour Yondu was moving the arrow with dexterity and skill; perfecting the art of catching the device – soaring even at full speed - with his hand.

Krugarr loved the opportunity for his magic to be seen as a positive; the time in the chamber was just as enjoyable for him if not more so.

It was truly a moment of brotherhood: Krugarr looked proudly and fondly upon his fellow Ravager. As he caught the arrow once more from over his shoulder Yondu shot Krugarr a look of pure glee, coyly laughing at how bad-ass he thought this skill to be. "Hehe..."

One of the scaled fins along the side of Krugarr's head suddenly perked up; cupping a red hand to his 'ear', as if he could hear something from beyond their realm...

A wave of his hands reopened the portal that had transported them here. Standing opposite side the portal – was Mainframe.

"There you guys are!" She had come to the weaponry looking for them; her curiosity was immediately drawn into this timeless chamber. "Oooh..." Processed undertones could be heard in Mainframe's voice. She cautiously peered in. "Where _are_ you ...?"

Yondu looked to Krugarr – who gave a head-nod in response – before turning to Mainframe; he extended an open hand to the android. "C'mere, lemme show you somethin'."

Mainframe might not have braved the portal if not for Yondu's invitation. A metallic hand reached out to grab his; the feminine android stepping through the portal, which again closed after. "Wow... this place goes on _forever_..."

Krugarr – though he could not speak – was quick to draw Mainframe's attention to Yondu and the arrow in his hands. Yondu obliged and presented the device to their robotic companion; she took it, though she didn't know outside of examining it what she ought to do.

"This is... neat..." She said awkwardly. "Does it do something?"

Her Ravager companions exchanged a look: how better to explain the yaka arrow's function than to demonstrate?

Yondu moved her hands with his so that she was holding the arrow out, arms extended; she gave no resistance. He stepped back, pausing for effect, before vocalizing a whistle: the arrow shot forward and up in an ascent.

Mainframe, however, had held the arrow in a grip with her right hand. The arrow going off in flight – to their collective surprise – took the female android along with it!

" _Whooooaaaaa_!" Her metallic body dangled from her grip on the arrow, flying with the android in tow. Yondu stopped his whistle – though the arrow remained in flight on the path back to them; he couldn't help but laugh. "You weren't s'posed to hang onto it, Bolts!" He hollered up at her.

Krugarr was doubling over; though inaudible, his eyes and facial expression made it clear - Krugarr was _laughing_. What a sight this was to see.

Mainframe looked down; her hand was slipping. An exclamation went in concurrence with losing her grip. " _Ah!"_

She fell - and was caught in Krugarr's arms: the Lem darting quickly to position himself below her. Her emerald lights were set on the sorcerer that had grabbed her. "That was close." She breathed gratefully when Krugarr set her down.

Yondu caught the yaka arrow as it zipped from behind and rested a hand on her shoulder. "You alright?" Though apologetic for the mishap he couldn't seem to banish the smile from his face.

Mainframe – timid to receive the contact and attention – dismissed any issue with her impromptu flight. "Yeah... _That was amazing_!" Her exclamation filled with excitement.

In that same moment the android took notice of Yondu's technical enhancement; she gasped. "Ohhh, I see... the cybernetics channel your whistle..." Her hand curiously reached out, hesitating from touching what her glowing eyes were focused on.

She retracted and shook her head. "This isn't why I'm here...but this is incredible – you have to let me do an analysis on that tech. Are you hungry?" Rambling with her usual bubbly pep: "Aleta made food!"

The female Ravager in reference had been captain of her own faction for a while now. Making a meal for the Ogord ship was no longer a regular occurrence but was an occasional treat. It _had_ been a while since he'd eaten – as if answering for him his stomach growled. Yondu chuckled in turn, a couple of teeth shining via his partial smile. "Heh... alright."

He looked over to Krugarr, saying after a moment of pause: "Thanks Red." The time they had spent together was valuable; Yondu's connection with the arrow was stronger now. He felt grateful for the time and opportunity that Krugarr had given him... he was a good friend, this strange and mysterious sorcerer. Without words, Krugarr acknowledging Yondu's thanks with a simple nod.

"Ummm..." Mainframe's spunky voice piped up – she didn't want to intrude on their moment but she kind of had to. "How do we get out of here?"

Krugarr snapped his fingers and pointed at the android, shooting her a wink before architecting a new portal for them that would lead to the kitchen. Though he wouldn't eat he would join them – they were, after all, his family.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Lessons Learned

* * *

That last mission was one for the record books. The Ravagers had served as hired guns to fend off bandits on a small planet in the Coma cluster; vicious, nomadic raiders that had all but overrun the citizens and villages. Yondu held the rear guard in their fleet of M-ships against a force thrice their size, a fight that started in the air and ended in space.

Despite the odds the Ravagers suffered no causalities, though Yondu did come close. Taking a lone stance for defense on the rear he had ended up outnumbered by several ships – the attempt to evade turned into a high-speed chase. Deviating through an asteroid field was a reckless move that earned him victory over his adversaries... his M-ship, though: in all the chaos of battle the vehicle had been beaten to near demolishment.

Racket from the maintenance hub could be heard behind him; Yondu observed his M-ship's wing with dismay.

"...shit," he muttered to himself. That asteroid field had really done a number on the left side... he'd have to replace the paneling on the entire wing.

No time like the present; at maintenance inventory Yondu acquired the supplies he knew he'd need for the job.

Charlie-27 had done well in teaching Yondu how to tend to his ship – Yondu never shot down an opportunity to put it in practice. Even if maintenance _was_ willing to do it for him he'd rather put it in place himself. That loner mentality: one he'd never really grown out of.

As he worked Yondu wiped the sweat beginning to form on his face and skull with a cloth from his pocket; dark blue veins could be seen on his scalp, more prominent than prior to the installation of his cybernetic fin. It had been a couple years since then – receiving the yaka arrow and fin.

The replacement effort ahead was a long and tedious one. A particularly beat-in panel slipped in his hand during detachment, serrating his thumb; Yondu cursed under his breath, instinctively popping the digit in his mouth. The taste of blood, sweat, and grime on his tongue caused a twinge of regret for the action – he powered through the ill coalesce in his attempt to stop the bleeding, wrapping up the wound with med tape from his ship's kit before returning to his work.

He pried off the last of the demolished panel despite its resistance-

 ** _CLANGCLANGCLA-CLANG_**

Startled, then aggravated; in the same moment of pulling off the panel several metal sheets clattered as they were set upon the floor.

The source of this calamity was Zed - the young Arcturan brought on by Stakar and adopted by the maintenance department, on the alternate side of the wing from Yondu with the load at his feet. The boy (now at age 12) pushed the goggles on his head that were beginning to slide back up to their usual resting place as he rose from his crouched position.

"Hey Yondu," he said with a nod between breaths (those panels were heavy). The Centaurian before him wore his signature scowl.

A long-standing routine for any time Yondu spend down in maintenance; over the years Zed had landed on an assessment: Yondu was a super-tough badass that _nobody_ messed with.

Zed wanted to be just like him.

The idolization made the boy a persistent presence; dismissing any attitude, snide remarks, or insults Yondu might throw at him, Zed had a habit of hanging around.

Yondu inevitably picked up on this – he was honestly a little endeared by the fact. No one had ever looked up to _him_ before... that said: he was too proud and the type of relationship too anomalous for Yondu to acknowledge it. Zed also had the propensity to be annoying more often than not (this was worth stating).

"Whatchu want boy." Though the greeting lacked any sense of pleasantry Zed wouldn't be bothered by it.

"Saw you fixing up your banged-up wing. Thought I'd bring some of the plates you'd need," still panting a bit from over-extending himself, he added "You're welcome," before Yondu could respond.

Yondu scoffed, saying nothing in return; instead he continued his work as if Zed hadn't interrupted.

The boy (either oblivious or uncaring of the aversion to his company) set a smirk on his face, cocking his chin up and popping the collar of his outermost layer.

"Got a new jacket today." He relayed in a boasting tone.

A navy blue duster fit almost to the length of his height. Likely not coincidental that the coat mirrored the fashion of his own. Yondu muttered a somewhat dismissive response. "Uh huh."

Zed leaned against the body of the Ravager vehicle, hands in his long coat's pockets. Yondu hoped the boy would move on if he didn't engage but he didn't expect it... sure enough, the boy met expectations.

"What's it like when you see the tailor?" An inquiring tone to his voice; Yondu's eyes flicked up to meet Zed's. He grunted in his response as he fought against the crushed paneling,

"Well- I don't see 'im often." The panel finally released – revealing additional damage. "Ah hell," Yondu cursed. "The damn oscillator's busted."

"I'll get you a new one." Zed said quickly; Yondu had no time to protest before he walked away. The Centaurian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in frustration – yeah, he wasn't going to go away. Zed was at least quick about providing his help.

After retrieving the part Zed picked up without missing a beat. "When you _do_ see him... what's it like?"

Yondu found this dialogue annoying and distracting; he nonverbally made that clear. The fiery little Arcturan held that stern gaze though, unwavering.

"...'s prolly the same as it is for you." He eventually said with finality and a thread of irritation.

Zed looked away, a scowl of his own worn on his face. Not one that reflected anger – rather pondering laced with concern, which was curious.

The mystery wouldn't remain much longer.

"When I went today, I just wanted a jacket you know? ...tailor said he needed to retake all my measurements..." face worried up a bit "-but I don't see why he needed to do that, since all _I_ wanted was a jacket."

He had avoided eye contact up to now; Zed looked over to Yondu. "Does he do all that measuring stuff every time he sees you?"

On the surface it seemed clear what was going on; Yondu could empathize given he also really hated the process of being measured. While his persona's knee-jerk response was to tell the chap to buzz off, get over it, etc. – he was gracious enough to soften his approach, giving a moment of thought before responding.

"...when I got a new jacket-" As he spoke he kept his focus where it was needed on disconnecting the busted part, "-he didn't take no measurements. But I'm grown. You're still a kid. He prolly needed 'em to know how to size ya up."

What Yondu was saying made sense. Zed's mouth turned down into a frown as he thought on what the Centaurian had said. "...maybe you're right."

Funny... Yondu felt bad for Zed – but also a bit angry at him for roping him into his preteen angst. It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory; Yondu didn't know how to act when it came to being around kids... and his own life was by **_no_** means a baseline for comparison. At the least, he could give the boy a bit of advice before sending him on his way.

"I get it. I ain't a big fan of it neither. Just be good about it." The Centaurian stated simplistically. "Get it over with fast as pos'ble. He takes your measurements – gives ya clothes, you change innu'im...and that's it." The end of his sentence was timed with the **_pfkssh_** of the busted part being removed. "Nothin' else to it."

Zed's scoff came out as a ' _kha_ '... he relented with a shrug. "I guess... I just don't like it. It's really cold, everywhere else in this ship." Zed's face showed his irritation for that detail (another feeling in which Yondu shared). "I hate having to take my clothes off for him to do it, and it just feels weird – when he touches me."

... ... ...what.

Yondu wasn't a stupid person; he played aloof and dismissive where he wanted to, but the reality was he was keenly observant. As his brain churned up the mental image of Zed with the tailor –alone, disrobed, elderly hands making the _wrong_ type of contact with his body – a decisive pit was formed in Yondu's stomach.

Maybe he was overreacting though; maybe he was misunderstanding.

"Hang on a second," Yondu stopped what he was doing with the wing. "You sayin' when he measures you, ya take off _every_ thing?"

"Well not the - you know, _everything_." Indicating he kept his undergarments at least?

"...For a jacket."

Zed went a little red in the face. _He_ had been the one raising issue with it, but now with Yondu... he felt very self-conscious. The young Arcturan had his own pit in his stomach growing heavy now. He also had his own set of survival mechanisms for emotional discomfort; he turned up that defiant part of his personality to try and regain control.

"See what I mean? I know I'm just a kid, but I think I'm too grown for him to be like that. Don't you think?"

Yondu had _literally_ no idea what to say.

He looked to Zed; unsure in how he should proceed... This conversation suddenly held significant weight; it felt inappropriate to continue it out here in the open. His eyes gravitated to the cockpit of his M-ship: a smaller model that seated two. Yondu motioned toward the vessel, giving an order before starting around to climb aboard.

"...{sigh} c'mon up here a sec."

Zed was a nimble thing – he climbed up the side of the M-ship with ease. The boy hit the toggle atop the windshield to open it, enabling him to slide into the co-pilot seat. Once in the vessel Yondu took a deep breath; rubbing his face he made an attempt to recap what he had heard.

"...So you went to the tailor today – for a jacket –and he had ya" god this was so uncomfortable to even try and say "strip down to your underwear, to get your measurements?"

Anxiety evident on the boy's face; Zed mustered up a nod.

"Alright..." Yondu's less rational side was growing increasingly angry; how much worse was this gonna get, how would he react? He needed to stay focused: say only what needed to be said, ask only what was paramount to know. "What else."

"What?"

The Centaurian gave an intense look from one eye, his profile to the side. " _Is_ there anything else?"

"...well..." he started off timidly "It's not like he's mean or anything. I figured he treated me different because I was a kid, having me change in front of him that first time... but I'm older now. I'm too grown for it, right?"

What was behind Yondu's silence was lost on Zed; he felt only insecure in his own vulnerability. The lack of a response furthered Zed's thoughts and feelings of isolation. He shifted in his seat and attempted to change the tone of the conversation.

"...I _am_ too grown for it. I can change on my own. I don't need his help."

"...he _helps_ you...?"

"... ...Not every time... sometimes he just watches me. Says I look good for a boy my age."

... _'you look good for a boy your age' ..._

The echoing memory of Yondu's youth solidified his thoughts on the matter.

The tailor was a predator of young boys: and Zed... poor Zed... he made the cut for parties of interest. Suppose it was no surprise: with his features the adolescent was very pretty.

It made Yondu dizzy, how sick and angry he now felt. His impulse was to go find the tailor right now and beat the teeth out his mouth, but he felt scared; left to his own devices he'd probably end up killing him. So what then... what was he supposed to do.

With an exasperated sigh he faced the windshield; a foot kicked up on the console and hand pressed to his forehead, he kept his eyes closed while he muttered the statement:

"I'm not gonna ask no more, 'bout what happened with the tailor." He resolved straight-away before looking at the young Arcturan. "What you're sayin' don't sit right."

Zed looked over to meet Yondu's worrisome expression. "I think you _know_ that since you just  had to have a lil' chat about it," His voice growing agitated in his discomfort "But you put this on me – so you owe me a'listen."

The boy looked away to the windshield, crossing his arms and avoiding Yondu's eye contact. "...'kay..."

"Captain needs to know 'bout this." Yondu determined. That was the only option that made sense.

Zed slouched further in his seat, giving a sigh of what seemed like frustration. He honestly had just been looking for a sounding board; Zed hadn't realized the discomfort he felt with the tailor was so uniquely severe.

Tears were welling in the young man's eyes. "That's just great..." He said spitefully. His voice strained in holding back as he spoke.

"It ain't my place to tell 'im for ya." Yondu didn't know what else to say. "And somethin' like this... he has to know."

Zed did not, he _could_ not, respond; He held his breath as the tears were kept back. Too proud to let them fall. Too dedicated to his show of bravado to let on just how isolated he now felt.

Strange how much can be said with silence... Zed didn't have to say anything; Yondu knew. If Zed wanted to talk to the captain he would've done so... he didn't understand _what_ was so wrong with the way the tailor treated him; all he knew was that it  was wrong.

As Yondu observed the prideful, quiet, exposed adolescent, he saw... himself.

"...I'll go with you."

Zed looked up; with surprise he blinked back the mist in his eyes and wore an honest look of hopeful desperation. "...yeah?"

"...yeah." The 25-year-old Ravager replied, the inflection in his voice indicating to a degree his own surprise. "We'll go together."

"...okay." Zed was very reserved in his response. It was humbling to be so vulnerable, he wasn't used to getting support any more than Yondu was used to giving it. It was well received - on both sides it seemed. Yondu felt right in the decision to support him, for more than just the feelings the subject matter inspired.

Zed was annoying, overzealous, and loud – but he was someone to Yondu. Someone that looked up to him. Someone Yondu felt he should protect, and –like a brother – stand by him.

* * *

Stakar's reaction to the unsettling news was grave. Out of necessity he pressed Zed further; the tailor – his name was Hetz – had not gone to the fullest extent of depravity (thank god), but he had done more than the captain could possibly overlook.

You don't _touch_ kids, or make them expose themselves... of the very _few_ taboos for a Ravager this was one of them: you  don't mess with kids. The tailor acting so predatory, and on one of their own?

It was unforgivable.

There was only one way to handle this. Hetz had betrayed the code... had it been worse, the punishment likely would have been death. Given the nature of things the captain leaned toward a more gracious alternative: exile.

Hetz pleaded with the captain for another chance, apologized, even tried to rationalize his behavior as old demons he had kept at bay, ones that had only momentarily resurfaced. The captain held his composure despite it all and stayed true to his resolve. There was no going back.

The ousting would be kept quiet; Stakar tasked Yondu to it for the sake of discretion. Hetz was made to pack a case of belongings and board a cargo ship; with Yondu as the pilot they were set en route to Xandar – the tailor's home planet – where he would be dropped off.

On the ride there Yondu was silent, emotionless; following the orders given. He occasionally shot a look over to the exiled Ravager. The tailor seemed to be in a grief-stricken daze, mumbling quietly to himself. Yondu felt only disgust for the man alternate to his pilot seat – for his offenses towards Zed, but also now this pathetic show of emotion.

"...What am I going to do..." His voice full of sorrow, words barely more than a shaky whisper between sobs.

"I know I'm sick..."

Yondu's throat tightened uncontrollably; he could feel the monologue coming and he didn't want to hear it, though he didn't immediately shut him down.

"The urges just never went away... no matter how hard I tried."

As if it wasn't the most reprehensible topic... the tailor's words made Yondu sick. Clenching his jaw he remained steady in navigating the course. _Just 40 clicks to the next jump..._ he thought to himself and kept on track with ignoring the lamenting tailor.

"I couldn't change... wired, I was wired wrong and I knew it. You're not supposed to feel desire for children..." Tears rolled down his face; a melancholy tone to the tailor's voice. "I wanted to kill myself.

I tried to do it – I was too much of a coward to follow through."

"Ain't that a shame." Yondu muttered, not bothering to resist the impulse.

The tailor ignored the crude response and continued, "but then... Strahm – my old friend – told me about the Ravagers. Said they were looking for a tailor."

He stopped speaking momentarily, overwhelmed in trying to hold back the new wave of tears brought on by his memories. " Dedicating my craft to them... it gave me purpose. And there was no temptation, on the Ogord ship... my work served a need. I was happy."

Yondu looked over with that same stone-faced glare that he always wore, but on the inside he felt the faintest trace of a softening. As the tailor spoke he felt somewhat reminded of his own story; how his own life was a myriad of pain bereft of meaning until he had joined the Ravagers. How he too had found happiness in this lifestyle.

"But then he came." Hetz sounded almost heartbroken now. "Such a beautiful... and it had been so long, since I had last seen a child. I couldn't help the way he made me feel."

Any sympathy that was brewing was whisked away by this statement. The tone in Yondu's voice was deadly. "Keep talkin' and you won't make it to Xandar."

Yondu didn't expect the tailor's response to be so pathetically desperate.

"Do it." Hetz looked now to Yondu, his face a mess but his eyes a glimmer of sad hope.

"Please.

Kill me." Tears streamed down as he continued his plea. "Being with the Ravagers... was everything to me. I have no one. I have no place to go."

Almost blubbering now as his voice began to elevate, "It would be easy for you to do it. I know it would be!"

The pathetic outcry did little more than make Yondu angry; the fact the tailor _wanted_ to die made his threat empty and meaningless... He reverted back to silence. They stayed like that the remainder of the flight.

After the final jump made, the M-ship entered Xandar's atmosphere; the citadel's docking bay would be his landing space. Shutting off the vessel Yondu hit the panel to open the cargo ship's rear. He turned to the dejected tailor.

"Get out." Was all he would say.

He sat there a moment, clutching his bag with old and feeble hands as he sobbed. Hetz did not continue to plead with Yondu to end his suffering but he also did not move.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be." The Centaurian said firmly. He would physically remove the tailor if he had to. "Just go."

Defeated, he weakly rose from his seat – standing now he looked to Yondu. The eye contact was not returned; staying like that for but a moment, the tailor finally de-boarded the vessel.

As Hetz watched Yondu depart from the docking bay his tufts of white hair were whipped by the wind of the thrusters in their acceleration to depart. Yondu found himself doing the same in his ascent, peering down at the exiled Ravager through the windshield. The look on his face as he stood there, clutching his bag...

He truly looked like a man with nothing. No friends, no family. No home. No purpose.

No reason for living.

This feeling for the man now in exile... it wasn't quite empathy. More like pity; the tailor had been a fool. He was a broken man. Worst of all he was weak – he let his inner demons get the better of him and slipped on a front that could not be overlooked. His actions were in no way redeemable... they disgusted Yondu to his core. But as far as what Hetz had said, the staking everything on being a Ravager? ... Yondu could relate.

What must it feel like to be forced out of the Ravagers, the brotherhood that had established his very way of life... just thinking about it was harrowing.

As he breached the stratosphere on Xandar Yondu could only think one thing. Only one thought would stay in his mind as he left the tailor to this lonely miserable fate, and it would stick with him for quite some time.

Being exiled... this would never happen to him. He stuck to the code, and that would never change.

That's what he told himself at least.

* * *

RAVAGER ARC - PART 1


	17. Author's Note

The next saga in this series has been split it off to a new entry, mainly because I needed the M rating. I hope you will join me over there :) Something like a link below

www. fanfiction (dotnet) /s/12636199/1/Untouchables

Thank you for reading, and for all the favorites, follows, and reviews - it's been a real privilege to receive your feedback and to have my work read. Really, thanks so much!


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